"Strike three! You're out!" The umpire yells from behind home plate. I am a bright ball of energy on the mound. I pump my sists and open my mouth, letting out a silent scream. My own personal cheering section is going crazy as the inning ends. I am equal parts excited and embarrassed by the cheers. I look up at the sun on my way back to the dugout; the orb is still there floating above it all. It is no longer the threatening, fear-inducing, world-swallowing sun from inning number one. The momentum of our comeback has shrunk it down to size. Its as if we somehow bottled up some of the energy from that bright light orb and dispersed it amongst our team.
I am on cloud nine. I struck out the side in the top half of the final frame. I started the inning out featuring my signature pitch, my circle changeup; it darted and dove and died on the way to home plate and the Bad Guys just could not time it right. Building confidence from there I started mixing in my other pitches, four seam fastballs, two seam fastballs, sliders. I got on a magical little run where everything was working flawlessly. My best inning ever on the mound, it came at a perfect time. After that bludgeoning in inning number one I held the opposition scoreless the remainder of the afternoon; throwing a shutout from innings 2-6, giving our offense a chance to win this game.
Our turn to bat down 7-6 still (1-0 as my father would say). I come flying into the dugout with boundless energy. My father is on his way out, taking his position in the 1st base coaching box. "Outstanding work my boy." He holds his fist out in front of him. I punch it harder than I should, my excitement getting the better of me. "Thanks Dad" "Now go win this thing." He says as he hits the field. Russell high fives me in the dugout, he's wearing his hat folded atop the crown of his head with the bill sticking straight up in the air. A rally cap. His energy is infectious. The whole dugout is alive. We are like a happy little beehive buzzing with activity and ready to erupt. He reads the names on the lineup card as we grab our helmets. "Anthony is up first, then Jesse, then Izzy." Shoot. That's right. Anthony is up first. My confidence wavers, if only for a moment. "Go get 'em Anthony!" I slap him rigorously on the back, trying to instill the confidence and fight into him with my open palm. Everyone encourages him one way or another on his way to the plate. The poor kid. He told me the other day his mom is basically making him play this season. Poor kid only picked up a baseball for the first time in his life earlier this year. I'm pretty certain my Dad put a baseball in my crib when I was a baby. I'm twelve years ahead of him in all things baseball.
I watch Anthony stand by home plate and wait for the warmup pitches to end. He looks lost. The moment is must too big for him. The pressure is immense. I'm up third this inning but I am ready to bat right now. I already have my helmet and batting gloves on. I kill some time talking to my beloved brother, our batboy, Danny. He's been working just as hard today as the rest of us in this Florida heat. "What do you think Danny? Do we got 'em?" Danny doesn't hesitate. "Oh yeah. This one is ours." His conviction is arresting. The momentum in this game, the confidence in this dugout is distinct and measurable. There isn't a player, coach, mother, or fan of the Good Guys that doesn't know that we are gonna win this game. We are gonna win this game. "Play ball!" Big Blue is ready. Anthony digs in the batter's box. A twelve year old rookie with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Anthony takes the first pitch. It misses the strike zone. Ball one. "Way to hang in there Anthony!" I'm too excited to stay quiet. Anthony takes the next pitch. It also misses the strike zone. Ball two. "Make him pitch to you Anthony!" Russell offers his encouragement, shaking the chain link fence of the dugout for effect. Anthony takes again. The third offering misses the strike zone. Ball three. No way. "Don't swing at the next one Anthony!" I shout it from the dugout. No subtlety here. Please dear God let them walk Anthony, I pray silently. Anthony takes once more. The fourth pitch is errant. Ball four. No one is happier than Anthony, he tosses his bat and sprints to first our dugout erupts. Here we go!
Tying run on first. Nobody out. Top of the order up. Jesse first. He steps into the box and I move into the on deck circle. Jesse's been locked in at the plate all afternoon. The bad guys' pitcher finds the strike zone, but Jesse's bat finds the ball. Ping! Jesse splits the gap between left and center field. Anthony gets all the way to third before the outfielders flag it down. Our third base coach waves him in. I move up to the plate and l clear the bat out of the way as my father taught me to. "Remember son, you're a ballplayer, not a spectator, help your teammates any way you can. There is always something to be done on the field." Anthony is well ahead of the throw into the infield. He runs home, our dugout and cheering section are going nuts. The opposition doesn't even throw to the plate. The comeback is nearly complete. Caught up in the moment, and still new to the game, Anthony fails to touch home plate. He gets close but then turns around in celebration and heads back towards the dugout. Only Big Blue and myself notice this. The Bad Guys are oblivious. I discreetly approach Anthony on my way to the batter's box. "Anthony, touch home plate." "What?!" "Anthony go touch home plate." I respond through my teeth with a life and death intensity. For a second, I consider picking Anthony up and carrying him there myself. I refrain. That would quite possibly be illegal and cost us. Anthony walks back and touches the plate. Big Blue signals safe. The run is finally in. The deficit erased. 7-7. Jesse stands on third base, the winning run sixty feet away. Victory so close we can taste it. I am ready for this.
Big Blue calls time and wipes home plate, allowing me to savor the moment. I look down to the 1st base box. My Dad is calm as calm can be. Like the eye of a hurricane. He puts both hands out in front of him, palms facing the earth. I can hear his voice. "Stay calm." We've already put the work in. All I have to do now is execute. I dig in. I take the first pitch, practicing the patience my father taught me. I take a strike. Damn. I look down to the first base box, my father puts his hands out again. Deep breath. Remain calm. I dig in for pitch number two. It's like I am playing the game in slow motion. I watch the ball rotate slowly and spin towards home plate. It's headed for the outside corner. I'm prepared for this. My father and I have practiced hitting the ball the other way extensively. I swing and feel solid contact. It's a well struck liner into right field. My eyes get wide as I hustle out of the batter's bow; I trip over my own feet and my eye's fall, I lose track of the ball. Before I can find it again I hear my teammates and cheering section erupt. It must have fallen in. My eyes finally confirm it as I near first base. Jesse trots home and scores. The comeback is complete. Good Guys win 8-7 (1-0).
The moment is glorious. The elation is magical. I feel like the major leaguers who celebrate with champagne and cigars when they win the World Series. I raise my arms on first base as the dejected Bad Guys slowly exit the field. My father is right there next to me in the 1st base box. He embraces me. He lifts me up. We came back and won. This is our game we both love. This game is a passion we both have. This is our moment. We share it together. My mother and beautiful sisters partake in the celebration from the stands. My teammates came pouring out of the dugout and met Jesse at home plate as he scored the winning run. I join them in the joyful scrum. Smiles and celebratory pats and punches all around.
So many heroes in this game. Russell with his spirited rally cap and clutch hits. Danny with his confidence and faithful enthusiasm. Anthony, an unlikely hero who drew a walk and came around to score the tying run. Jesse for hitting the ball all over the yard. The gravity of the victory is tremendous. We survived the sun. We survived the seven run opening frame. We survived Big Hercules and his missile. We survived the error, the failed stolen base. I survived the stomach bug. We survived. We persevered. We came back. We won. The 8-7 game. Sweet victory.
