Partying like it's 1993

My God, they're never going to leave. They're never going to get changed, shower off the champagne stink, get on the plane and return to Philadelphia. It's been over an hour now and there is no sign that the Phillies are ready to leave the field at Dodger Stadium and head to the World Series.

There are a couple of hundred Phillies fans behind the first-base dugout. They're finally starting to go now, slowly. On the field, the players remain  -- players, coaches, friends, families, wives, girlfriends, kids, everyone.  They're passing around the big trophy they got for winning the NLCS and taking snapshots with it. They were showering each other with champagne and beer, but the thing has moved onto the sipping and gulping stage instead. They're all milling around, hair matted by alcohol, grins plastered on faces.

They share hugs. They wander aimlessly. The chanting is over, pretty much. The fans are now  pretty much gone -- mostly because the security people told them it was time to leave. So it is just them now, players and friends and families. The only witnesses are sportswriters frantically typing against deadlines. The only witnesses besides themselves, that is.

It is now approaching 1 am, Eastern time. A few players have gone inside, but only a few. It is as if they don't want it to end. And, well, who can blame them?