World Series Champions 2025: A Night of Anxiety

The Calm Before the Chaos

Baseball has always been my passion. It’s more than just a game for me. It’s a deep emotional investment. When I watch, I’m not just a fan, I’m an honorary member of the team, living and breathing every pitch, hit and inning as though I were on the field playing myself. I think it’s great to care for something so deeply, but it’s also incredibly exhausting, especially when that passion intertwines with anxiety.

Over the past weekend, my favorite team, the Los Angeles Dodgers, faced off against the Toronto Blue Jays in game seven of the World Series. The stakes couldn’t have been higher, and honestly, neither could my emotions. I was already feeling the adrenaline long before the first pitch, and by the time the game started, I was vibrating with nerves.

An Evening of Remembrance and Restlessness

That night also happened to be our annual family dinner — a time to honor and celebrate our loved ones who’ve passed. My cousin went all out: sausage and peppers, lasagna, salad, and garlic bread filled the table. The aroma of roasted peppers, garlic, and melted cheese drifted through the kitchen. It reminded us of fond memories shared with those we lost.

It should’ve been a peaceful evening, one of laughter, memories, and connection. But my mind was elsewhere. It was on the game, and the game alone. When I walked in, I beelined to the couch. I was watching the game at home for a little bit before I left, so my anxiety was already at an all-time high being down 3-0.

The room was buzzing with conversation, clinking glasses, and laughter, but to me everything blurred into background noise. All I could hear was the game. All I could feel was body tense, my temperature rise, and my heart start to race. I couldn’t help it. The game had its own gravity that pulled me in completely.

When Anxiety Takes the Field

That’s the thing about anxiety; it doesn’t just live in your mind. It’s physical. It hijacks your body. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. My hands trembled. My breathing was shallow. Every pitch felt like a punch of adrenaline, every swing a surge of panic.

At one point, I couldn’t even watch. I turned away from the TV, peeking through my fingers like a child watching a horror movie. My stomach churned, my chest felt tight, and my body screamed for relief, but my brain refused to let go. The unpredictability of the game mirrored the unpredictability of my own emotions. That’s what passion does. It consumes you in ways that are both beautiful and brutal.

The Moment That Broke Me Open

When the Dodgers finally won — World Series Champions 2025 — I burst into tears. Not quiet, composed tears, but full-on meltdown sobbing. My body was trembling and emotion poured out of me like I had no control over it.

Then came the embarrassment. I’m not used to showing that much emotion, especially in front of family. I’m the quiet one. The one who keeps things under wraps. But that night, there was no mask, no filter. Just me, raw and overwhelmed, surrounded by people I love.

And for once, that felt okay. Maybe even good. Maybe it meant I felt safe enough to be myself — emotions, anxiety, intensity, and all. That kind of vulnerability was new for me, and it took a night of baseball to reveal it.

Where Passion Meets Anxiety

That evening wasn’t just about the game or the win. It was about what it means to care deeply and to let something move you so much that it shakes you to your core. Passion and anxiety often walk hand in hand. One fuels the fire; the other fans the flames.

But maybe the goal isn’t to separate them. Maybe it’s to understand that both come from the same place: a heart that feels deeply.

The game ended, the Dodgers won, and my heart finally began to slow. But in that stillness, I found peace, not just in victory, but in the acceptance that my intensity, my emotions, and even my anxiety are all part of what makes me, me.