We’re already past just being excited to be here. That wore off fast. Now it’s about whether this version of the Royals actually holds up once the games start stacking and the league stops taking us lightly. You can feel the shift. The crowd feels it too.

Everything still runs through Bobby. When Witt is attacking early, spraying the ball, taking the extra base without thinking twice, the whole team plays faster. When he presses, tries to lift everything, you can feel the offense tighten up around him. We watch his first two at-bats like a mood ring. He doesn’t need to carry everything, but when he’s right, the lineup suddenly makes sense.

On the mound, Cole Ragans days already feel circled. The velocity, the confidence, the way hitters react now instead of dig in. The real question is what happens after him. Who gives us real innings instead of five-and-fly. Seth Lugo’s steadiness matters more than it looks on paper. Every time the rotation turns over cleanly, it buys everyone else room to breathe.

The bullpen is still a nightly pulse check. Some nights it’s calm. Some nights it’s chaos with a one-run lead and too many pitches left in the inning. We’re watching who earns trust, not who was supposed to have it.

Kauffman has its own rhythm again. Big outfield, balls hanging in the gaps, long innings where speed and defense actually matter. You can feel when a homestand starts to matter, when division games bring a little extra edge, when the crowd gets loud before anything big even happens.

We show up because this is the stretch where belief either hardens or cracks. Where you can tell if the growth is real or just a good story. Being there when it’s still being tested, before it’s obvious, while every game still feels like a question. That’s when it feels the most alive.