It was 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.