“Strike 3!!!” The umpire yelled as our team was very relieved. One more out and we were going to the championship. Our team had worked all summer for this moment. We weren’t going home with an L.
The potential final batter made his way up to the plate. He was #4 in their batting order, meaning that he is their power hitter. He had already put 1 over the fence in our game, so with the bases loaded right now, him batting is not the best situation for us.
I felt relieved because I had hardly any pressure on me. I was not the batter, the pitcher, the catcher, or anyone with a big role. I was standing out in right field, ready for a ball to come to me, but that would be unlikely, because people don’t hit the ball that way, because righty batters hit the ball with much more power to left field, but lefty batters hit it with power to right field.
The batter was up in the batter’s box, ready to hit the ball like a pro. His eyes looked as mean as a male lion staring down his prey. Anyone could tell that he was ready to slam the ball far into the sky.
Our catcher starts to give our pitcher signs on the pitch. I can faintly see his fingers, as he signals a 1 to the pitcher. Fastball. A 1 ment fastball, a 2 was a curveball, and a wiggly 4 was a changeup.
Our pitcher starts his windup and throws a fastball perfectly the low outside corner of the strike zone, so I thought that it was an easy strike 1, but I was incorrect. The big batter took a big hack at the ball and BAM. He had knocked the ball with lots of force and power right over my head in right field. I was shocked, but I was ready enough, because I acted quickly and immediately turned my back and tracked the ball down. The ball was aiming for the fence, and I was aiming for the ball. The ball started to descend, and landed a few feet from the fence, and a few feet short from me. The ball smacked the ground and was immediately clutched by my hand.
“Cut! Cut!”, the cut off man yelled to me, waiting for me to throw the ball to him. The winning run was on its way home, and if I threw it to the cut off man,the runner would get home. I had to get the ball it straight home.
I was currently 200 feet from home plate, and with all my might, I took a stride and went through the throwing motion that I had learned years ago in my backyard on a nice spring day. I put so much force on that ball, it felt like I was some professional wrestler with huge muscles, even though I was a 12 year old boy. I let the ball go and it was on its way to home flying through the air like an army airplane going into battle. The ball went over the cutoff man, over the 1st and 2nd basemen, and started to fall around the pitcher’s mound.
The catcher was holding his glove out as a target for the ball. The ball fell right into his glove like a dart scoring a bullseye.
Our catcher slaps the tag on the incoming runner, and it looked like it was a perfect tie. If there is a tie between the runner and the ball, the runner gets the point. It looked like this game was over. The umpire raised his arm and started to yell “He’s ……. ”
Earlier that day
The pitcher was staring down our leadoff batter like an eagle seeing a mouse from miles away. He was ready to strike. The pitch came in and that was strike one. Our batter had swung and completely missed the ball. It was like he couldn’t see the ball.
He next pitch he popped up, right to the first basemen, leaving us with one out.
The first inning went by quickly because I didn’t bat or get anything in the field. It was now the second inning , and we were down 1-0, because their #4 hitter had knocked one right over the center field fence. But now it was our turn to bat. We were looking to do the same.
It was now my turn to bat, and I was ready. I was in the batter’s box, holding my bat up, ready to hit.
The first pitch came in and I smacked it over the shortstop’s head, leaving me with a single. I was now on base, and if I made it all the way around, We would tie the game, unless I made it around on a home run, then we would be up by 1 run.
And that’s what happened.
Our #8 hitter had put one over the left field fence, which is unusual, because the batters toward the end of the order (8,9) don’t normally get hits. I batted #5, so I was about in the middle of the order. In the field I played either right field, or second base. I enjoyed second base more than right field, because there was much more action there.
As I returned to the dugout with the #8 hitter, Ryan, all I heard was “Nice job, Ryan! Atta boy!” from my team and coaches.
The rest of the game seemed to fly by. It was currently 2-1, but that soon changed into 3-1. Then 3-2, 3-3, 3-4, 4-4, 6-4, 6-7.
It was now the 6th inning. The final inning. We were winning 8-7. The bases were loaded, and There were 0 outs. We needed a miracle to win this game.
Our pitcher started his windup and threw the first pitch, and it was a line drive right at him. Our pitcher caught the hard hit ball and all I heard from the people watching was,
“First! Second! Third!” – they were yelling to the base he should throw the ball to, to double the runner off, making it 2 outs. I always questioned why the people all thought of different bases, when our pitcher should throw it to the base he is closest to – first base.
And he threw it there.
So, now there were 2 outs, and it was the final batter. If we got this out we would win the game.
The pitch was in, and I was slightly nervous, even though I was in right field, because the ball rarely comes to me. Ironically, the ball was knocked way over my head, in right field. I immediately sprinted after the ball, and I felt like a cheetah, even though I was fairly slow. I knew that our season was in my hands.
I then grabbed the ball, saw the cut off man, and decided not to throw the ball to the cut off man, but throw it all the way home, 200 feet. I started the throwing motion that I have known for years and I released the ball with all of my might.
And he was out.
The end
