I stood on a mound of dirt with my buddy Jay. We stood six inches off the ground to get a better view. It was dark and the focal point was a distant light wavering from the stadium.

We traded off one coat between the two of us, shivering in the 40-degree weather.

I was truly freezing my na-nas’s off.

We clinged to the coat but no kind of cold would stop us from witnessing the ongoing scene. After all, a once in a lifetime experience comes only once.

On top that mound, like Adam Wainwright from another mound some hundred yards away, Jay and I jumped in joy and embraced each other, as masculine as two heterosexuals could hug.

A high-fiving frenzy ensued that lasted throughout the night. It didn’t matter that I had two job interviews the next day: The Cardinals won the World Series and I was in St. Louis to witness that feat.

But was it another underdog story?

From as far as the eye could see, red-colored shirts bled onto the street. No matter the race, gender or social class everyone was nothing but a fan.

It’s a rare occasion to see this “one love” atmosphere, especially in a city the Associated Press announced this week as the most dangerous in the U.S.

No one was from East St. Louis and no one was from West St. Louis on that storied night: only from St. Louis.

It was baseball that brought the city together. That the Cardinals received their bid to the playoffs on a wild card defied all odds.

They had waited 24 years for this moment.

The St. Louis Post-Dispatch proclaimed, “CHAMPS!” across their stadium edition that was distributed as soon as the game was over. With utter glee across their faces, the cities residents were just that: champs.

“We … are the champions … of the (dramatic drunken pause) f—ing world,” shouted one fan inside a hotel lobby.

The experience for me was surreal, watching Tigers’ Curtis Granderson walk into the same hotel as me; just minutes after he blew catching the pop fly in Game 4.

Outside, after Wainwright threw the last pitch, the roar of the fans approval was deafening.

I wondered if the AP report – about the city’s crime – mattered at all. After all, in its arch frame lay the coveted World Series Trophy, something the city had been without for three decades. The night went without incident -the only shot fired came from a firecracker.

Lo and behold, I made it to my job interviews the next day only to realize the person that sat in front me was a Cardinals fan. An otherwise nerve-racking affair turned into something familiar and conversational that ended with one more high five.