You know, the stroke of midnight thing doesn't make much sense, magic wise. The turn of the day depends on were the sun is. Midnight wouldn't mean anything to the Fae...

So you are, kid. So you are. [Oh, the youngsters these days, so eager to be adults.]

Still. First game. We must all make our pilgrimage to Wrigley. [He bows his head reverently. Then scarfs down another cupcake. Om nom nom.]