(Gotta be Honest:  I’ll be watching the Yankee score on the Scoreboard!)

It is one of those classic Colorado nights at Coors Field — the kind where you pack sunscreen and an umbrella and end up needing both, along with a space heater and a weather therapist. It is cool, gray, drizzly, and honestly? Perfect. Because tonight, the sky cannot make up its mind, but we sure can. We are here to celebrate Living Donors and Transplant Recipients — and those of us still waiting, still holding the line, still showing up.

I am one of those folks. I have not gotten my transplant yet. Still on dialysis. Still doing the grind. Still playing my own two-front war against metastatic prostate cancer and end-stage kidney disease. But I am here, bundled up like I am heading to the summit of Pike’s Peak, watching baseball and surrounded by people who get it. People who have given, people who have received, and people — like me — who are still waiting for our moment at bat.

Coors Field tonight isn’t just a ballpark. It is a cathedral of second chances and sacrificial love. Donors who gave parts of themselves — literal, physical, internal parts — are walking around like it’s no big deal. But let me tell you something: it is the biggest deal.

You gave someone a life. Not a birthday card. Not a casserole. A life.

And on the flip side, there is me and so many others — warriors in the waiting room. We are hanging in, doing our rounds with dialysis machines like they are old friends, and hoping for that call that changes everything. But tonight? Tonight, we get to stand in the outfield and feel the warmth of a community that sees us. That says, “Hey, you matter. You are not alone.”

The game itself? Well, the Rockies are doing their usual thing — giving us just enough hope to make us believe, just enough drama to make us scream, and just enough bullpen implosions to send us into therapy. But that’s baseball. That is life. That is resilience.

I am watching this game surrounded by others who have walked this transplant road — some at the beginning, some well into recovery. There is a woman two rows over with a sign that says, “My Brother Saved My Life.” Another guy’s wearing a “Donor Dad” jersey. And me? I have got a hoodie, a poncho, a whole lotta hope… and a story I am still writing.

You know, it strikes me that we are kind of like the Rockies. We may not always win the inning, but damn it, we show up. Rain or shine. Diagnoses or not. We lace up, roll in, and play the long game.

So here is to the donors. You did not just step up to the plate — you knocked it out of the park.

Here is to the recipients. You have been through the fire and came out swinging.

And here is to those of us still in the dugout — waiting for the signal, keeping the faith, and getting up every day to fight another inning.

Because whether it is the bottom of the 9th or the top of the 1st, we are all in this game together.

Now… let’s go Rockies. And let’s find me a kidney.

⚾🧡💪
(Dialysis by day. Book Kahuna by night. Still swinging.)

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