On Extra Innings in an Extra-Disconnected World
It’s 11:20 P.M. in Los Angeles. The Dodgers are in the seventeenth inning of a World Series game that’s been dragging on for six-plus hours. I’ve been sitting with my very committed, life-long Dodgers fan husband on our couch, this WHOLE time. Thank goodness it’s a cozy one—I’ve rarely felt as grateful that we decided to splurge and buy the L-shape so we can both stretch out simultaneously.
I’m repeatedly reminding myself that I choose to do this, because early on in our budding partnership I decided I’d try to love the Dodgers as much as he does purely out of care for him (and being invested in our developing relationship.) At this point, I consider myself more of a “fan girlfriend” rather than a true “fangirl,” but in this moment the distinction doesn’t matter much, as I’m committed to this couch until the very end. Oy! The things we do for love!
We’ve got a very active group chat going with friends commenting on each play while simultaneously griping about how “it’s past our bedtimes.” I’m imagining that fans who’ve come together in our Eastside neighborhood bars are standing arms around each other sharing rousing loud cheers and softly muttered “Oofs” when a promising big play doesn’t end up panning out.
Old friends are watching with eyes peeled and commiserating about just how unrelenting this is while strangers are bonding over exhaustion and hope.
In a world that’s grown increasingly disconnected–politically, emotionally, digitally–there’s something radical about staying with something this long, together.
Staying Awake to Stay Together: What an Extra-Innings Game Teaches Us About Connection
My (now) husband would tell you there’s something almost sacred about this collective insomnia. In an era where it’s easy to disengage (close the app, turn off the notifications, scroll to something shinier) tonight, millions of people are choosing to stay. To sit through every pitch, every pop-up, every moment of “wait, how is this still going?” And, we’re getting tired. Really tired. But we’re tired together.
Now it’s the top of the 18th…
Earlier this evening, Paul and I were fondly reminiscing about the 2018 World Series game against Boston where the Dodgers got into 18 innings and just how exhausted and bleary-eyed everyone was at work the next day. Now somehow we’re back here again!
OMG! They’re talking about bringing Yamamoto back in?! What the is happening right now?!
We’re practicing something that modern life doesn’t often ask of us: Endurance. Attention. Togetherness without a finish line in sight.
Even if we’re alone on our couches, there’s a real sense of community in the fact that thousands of people across this city, and internationally (we see you Canada and Japan!), are doing the exact same weird thing: caring deeply about something they can’t control, for longer than is reasonable, alongside strangers.
Reimagining Masculinity: What a Long Game Shows About Patience, Collaboration & Care
When Paul and I first started dating many years ago, I remember proudly telling him that “I’ve never dated any guy who’s into sports.” My, how quickly I ate my words!
To me, sports have always carried the scent of “classic (toxic?!) masculinity”—grit, stoicism, and jaw-clenching toughness. Eau du Man, if you will. But as this baseball game drags on, what’s on display isn’t dominance or aggression. Everyone in the stadium is on their feet, standing together. Kids are jumping and cheering, while rubbing their tired eyes. Again, I’m feeling very grateful for this comfy, oversized couch! In place of dominance or stoicism I see patience. Collaboration. Community. Collective deep breath after deep breath.
In a world where we often mistake power for success and independence for strength, there’s something beautifully refreshing about this kind of community: showing up again and again, tired but attuned. This far into the game, it almost feels like we’ve lost the initial spirit of competition and playing to win, everyone is really in this moment together, whatever the outcome.
It reminds me of what we often talk about in therapy—the quiet courage of emotional endurance, the vulnerability it takes to stay connected when you’d rather check out, and ultimately, the awesome power of community.
Weezie, the author’s dog, dressed as a Dodger dog for Halloween
Why We Crave Community in a Disconnected World
For all our fancy technology and endless apps to help us be more “connected,” loneliness has become one of the defining features of modern life. So it’s kind of ironic that a now almost seven-hour baseball game is, at this moment, what’s bringing us back to each other.
For one night, the endless scroll slows down into a shared rhythm: the sound of a collective gasp, the exhale of a missed swing, the hope that maybe this inning will be the one.
These small, spontaneous communities matter. They remind us that belonging doesn’t have to be built on ideology, productivity, or perfection. Sometimes, it’s just a handful of (very) sleepy fans choosing to keep caring about a team, about each other, about being here, together.
Collective Empathy: What Fandom (and Therapy) Teach Us About Showing Up
If baseball is anything, it’s a lesson in relational awareness. I won’t claim to understand the actual athleticism or skill of the players on the field. I’ve learned a lot about this game over the years, but I’m certainly not a baseball aficionado. What I can tell you is what I watch happen. Each team has built their own culture. I watch as they use a secret, nonverbal language to communicate their strategy. In order for this to actually work, they stay very attuned and in sync with one another. Each team also has traditions, superstitions, and an intentional way that they celebrate when something remarkable happens. They embrace each other with pure emotion—joy, pride, and shared camaraderie (and for the Dodgers, a shower of sunflower seeds.)
Similarly, fans celebrate together—they cheers their cups with strangers sitting beside them and offer hugs and high-fives when they get the outcome they were rooting for. They also collectively hold their breath in a moment of peak tension and commiserate with collective sighs and heads hung heavy, as they quietly leave the stadium after a big loss. This kind of attunement is empathy in motion. It’s that pure human resonance where we feel something together and we move with each other. These are the same skills that hold relationships, friendships, and communities together: paying attention, staying open, collective mourning, shared celebration, and truly staying in it with each other.
And maybe that’s what this absurdly long game is teaching us. To practice patience. To keep showing up, even when we’re exhausted. To stretch our capacity to be with one another—in the uncertainty, the unrelenting moments, the hope, and the joy.
Bottom of the Eighteenth: The Long-Game of Love, Relationships & Belonging
Whether the Dodgers win or lose tonight almost feels secondary. What’s extraordinary is that we’ve all stayed. We’ve texted, sighed, cheered, complained, laughed, and persisted—together. If you were watching, you’re one of us now.
In an increasingly disconnected world, togetherness itself is the win.
And when I glance over at my husband, eyes heavy but still glued to the screen, I remember: this is relationship work, too. Staying in it when it’s long. Choosing care over convenience. Becoming a true fan because the person you love enjoys it so much. Finding shared joy, or at least solidarity, in the extra innings of life. Is it cheesy? Yes, absolutely, but allow me these silly sports metaphors please.
So here we are, almost seven hours later, both a little delirious and red-eyed, but still together.
Love—like baseball—might just be a (very) long game.
Very Sportsy Update: In the bottom of the 18th, the Dodgers win with a walk-off home run from Freddie Freeman. Randy Newman’s I Love L.A. is playing on the loud speaker as one of the longest World Series games comes to a rousing end.
As the sports commentators like to say, “And the crowd goes wild!”
And onto Game 4 we go…
Featured therapist author:
Kaitlin Kindman, is a co-founder of Kindman & Co., is disabled, an activist, and a feminist. Her purpose is to help her clients come to believe that they are not alone, they belong, AND they inspire—they have the power to bring about change. She works with her clients to feel more connected, so that they take actions that improve their relationships and the world.
Kaitlin is deeply committed to providing socially just and anti-oppressive therapy. She really loves working with couples to improve their relationships and deepen intimacy, with other therapists and healers, as well as entrepreneurs and other business owners. Kaitlin finds true enjoyment in cuddling with animals, a just-right temperature cup of tea, feeling the sun on her face, and dancing in supermarket aisles.
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