The game had finished late, extra innings, the column needed rewriting, and I was hustling through the Dodger Stadium press dining room, headed outside to my cluttered laptop and impossible deadline.
I didn’t see her. She saw me. She sees everyone. She is always there, always hovering, the longtime press dining room manager who watches over the media behind thick glasses and a sturdy heart.
Her job finished, Maria Hartmark was heading out the back door to catch a ride to her Carson home when she noticed I was stressed. She stopped me. She smiled. She turned around and retreated to the kitchen.