Blake and I started off the summer by playing baseball at Woodrow Park. This field that is the most crappy field that has
ever existed, but it is the only field available to us living in Johnstonville Kentucky. The game started like any other. We
turn a double play, hit a triple, the normal stuff for us. At the end of the game, things started to turn bad. We started the
ninth inning by getting a fly out to right field, and then a simple grounder to shortstop. Two outs, and things seem fine.
Well, I was wrong. We are up 7-5 and a kid we call "The King", comes up. "The King" is a 14 year old 6'7, 255 pound,
behemoth that lives a few blocks from my apartment. So, with our luck, he crushes the ball 20 miles over the fence.
What a surprise. Did I mention that he has 46 homers in a span of 17 games? Well, that's that. Next, the weakest kid on
the other teams roster comes up. This kid is like literally a stick. He eventually singles to right on an error by our second
baseman. Things are still ok. A kid named Paul Stevenson comes up and hits a double into the gap. Now it's not looking
so hot. The last batter, I don't know this last kid, but he smokes a ball up the middle. I didn't even have to react. Gloved
the ball, tossed it Blake, and threw him out at first by a step. Game over. I don't know why, but I had a presumptuous
feeling that something bad was about to happen. Let's just say, I was right.
