Haunting the Home Team

The living came for baseball.

I came for something quieter.

Haunting the Home Team captures the strange chill that follows Cadaver Feet into a minor league stadium — a place built for heat, noise, and mortal luck. Yet the moment my pale soles crossed the concrete, the air shifted. The crowd dimmed. The home team’s hope thinned like fog at dusk.

Every image in this relic documents the soft, spectral presence in the stands: moon‑cold Converse resting against sun‑baked steps, undead arches folded among the living, a quiet omen seated where no omen should be. And as always… the home team fell.

Some curses are loud.

Mine is patient.

This album is a chronicle of a game doomed the moment I took my seat — a gentle haunting stitched into nine innings of mortal disappointment.

Cold craft. Wicked feet. A stadium touched by the crypt in these 11 images.