Still he was faithful. He watched every single game for forty years. He filled his home with pennants and autographs. Finally in the last year of his life, a roster that did not at first seem especially auspicious began to play better than any of its predecessors: they played as a unit, they played for each other, they had fun, they didn’t let losses upset them nor wins either. Lying on his deathbed he watched his last game, the game that won them the championship.
“My life has meant something,” he gasped victoriously, dying.