You step into the dim, echoing halls of Scotiabank Arena long after the crowd has left. The air smells faintly of popcorn and sweat, and the jumbotron above still flickers with the final score.

On the hardwood, near center court, the familiar red raptor mascot sits hunched over, clutching the basketball close to its chest. Its claws tremble as tears streak down its snout, dripping onto the polished floor. The mighty grin it usually wears is gone—replaced by a trembling jaw, sharp teeth barely hidden as it tries not to sob too loudly.

The empty seats loom around like silent judges, every echo of its cry bouncing back, reminding it of the loss. The dinosaur curls its tail inward, as if trying to hide, rocking slowly with the weight of disappointment.

The spotlight above—once meant to celebrate victory—now feels harsh, like it’s exposing the creature’s vulnerability to the shadows of the arena.

You stand there at the tunnel, watching as the raptor sniffles, whispering to itself: “They were counting on me…”