I know this has been batted around for awhile, but it feels strange to Batgirl, sort of like when your boyfriend breaks up with you and moves to Toronto and you're crushed, just crushed, but slowly, with some therapy and a lot of alcohol, you learn to move on, and while you can't really find anyone who makes you feel like he made you feel, you live with the emptiness, even though the guy you found to replace him doesn't quite have the same "pop in his bat," and finally you totally heal and you think back on that old boyfriend with fondness, only slightly tinged with melancholy--but it is a beautiful melancholy, for it is better, as the poets say, to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, and a rose by any other name is a rose all the same, and all that jazz, and then he calls you and says his company is forcing a transfer back, so maybe you should get back together, after all--and while you spent so much time dreaming for this moment, now that it is here you feel yourself doubt; you wonder if what you had can really come back, what with the water under the bridge and the passing of time and the coming and going of Bret Boone. Can you go home again? Was there ever a home? Was it just a lie--a beautiful lie? Or is happiness there for us, just beyond the rainbow, full of maple leaves and sunshine and clutch homeruns, and perhaps a few injuries here and there, and a lot of blinking--oh, yes, a lot of blinking, and that blinking is in morse code and it sends out a message to us all--I am Cordel Koskos. I am here to say you can go home again. It is all right now, it is all going to be all right.