The air was a cool ninety-five degrees. The sun shined down with all its might, hiding behind a white puffy cloud every ten minutes or so, and the humidity was enough to make us sweat without moving a muscle. The alternating stripes in the grass just beyond the raked, orange clay left a freshly mowed scent. All four bases were painted white enough to make your eyes squint at their reflection of the piercing sun. The sounds of metal bats clinking and catchers’ mitts popping could be heard throughout the park of neighboring diamond fields. Adults littered the bleachers, stuffing their faces with hot dogs, hamburgers, and nachos. Dogs barked at one another and small children screamed at the top of their lungs when they didn’t get what they wanted at the concession stand. Airplanes roared overhead en route to the neighboring airport, and overexcited fathers (convinced that their child would star in the MLB) cursed out the “Men in Blue” after almost every call. Both teams had to tune this out if they were to win one of the most important games of the season--the playoff qualifier.
The sweat stung as it dripped down his forehead and into his eyes. It was the 3rd inning and so far he was on the top of his game. Tommy Smith had been fielding bad hops and fly balls with ease. The star player on the team, he was also the best shortstop in the league. He was two-for-two at bat already, hitting a single and a double while earning two RBI’s (runners batted in) in the process. His teammates used him as inspiration, and, before long, the momentum was in their favor. The Northstars were leading the Wildcats by four runs and showed no sign of slowing down. The Wildcats sent a line drive to center field. Zach sprinted, put out his arm, and dove forward catching the ball at the tip of his glove to get the third out. The parents went nuts and the team hustled to the dugout, each of them filing in, one by one, past all of the Gatorade bottles and sunflower seeds littering the floor.
“We’ve got this thing in the bag, bro,” said Tommy.
“I know! We’re killing them. That pitcher’s got no heat, he’s throwing meatballs straight down the pipe,” replied Mike Thompson, the Northstar’s starting pitcher.
“I want a bigger lead though. You know they’re gonna bring in that closer in the 7th. That kid isn’t human!”
“Even you can’t hit his breaking ball Tommy. The kid’s a beast.”
“Yeah, I don’t think anyone in the state can touch it. You gotta stay in as long as you can. Don’t throw your arm out, but David can’t pitch today and the only other pitcher we got is Daniel.”
Daniel gave Tommy a dirty look.
“Hey, no hard feelings bro, but no offense, they’re gonna get a few hits off of ya. You know that. Just step it up that’s all.”
Daniel turned his head without muttering a word.
“I think I pissed him off,” Tommy said. “Maybe he’ll throw faster.”
The fourth inning started with a bang. The bases were loaded with only one out. Tommy was up to bat. He stared at the pitcher’s hand, never taking his eye off the ball. And a split second later there was a “ping,” and the right fielder was sprinting for the small ball of cork. Tommy almost made it around the bases but stopped short at third when the ball made it back to the infield. By the end of the inning the Northstars had scored three more runs and had a commanding lead of seven.
Over the next couple of innings, Mike’s arm grew tired. He had done so well, forcing strikeout after strikeout, but fatigue was more than obvious and the coach put Daniel on the mound at the bottom of the sixth.
It all fell apart. Hit after hit. Run after run. There’s only so much fielders can do when the ball makes it to the outfield over and over again. Soon, the lead was lost by one run, and momentum changed direction completely. The parents on the Northstars’ side of the bleachers grew silent. When the third out was finally earned, the team walked back into the dugout, all heads dropped except for Tommy’s.
“It’s not over yet guys!” exclaimed Tommy. “We can still come back from this. We have three innings left, let’s get up to that place and knock ‘em out of the park. We can’t blame it all on Daniel. We gave up out there and made errors we shouldn’t have made.”
“Why don’t you pitch Tommy?” asked one of his teammates.
“Yeah, you can pitch for me. I don’t want to let the team down anymore than I already have. You pitched last season right?, asked Daniel.
“Well don’t ask me, ask the team what they think.”
“Go for it Tommy!”
“You’re the only other guy who can pitch!”
“You got this bro.”
Tommy thought to himself for a minute. It won’t happen again. That was once in a lifetime. It couldn’t happen twice. That ball won’t come near my face again, I know it. Besides it was only a few stitches anyways. All I have to do is keep them from scoring. Yeah, no sweat.
“I got this!” exclaimed Tommy. “Now let’s score some runs and get back into this game!”
They psyched themselves up again. They were all ready to send that ball out of the park. As fast as their excitement rose, their hearts dropped. The closer. Right on time to start the seventh. Three batters up. Three batters down. The pitcher grinned as he ran back to his dugout.
Tommy snarled. I have to win this. It’s my last season. We have to make the playoffs.
The Northstars took the field, and Tommy didn’t fail to deliver. Just as easy as the closer struck out three batters, Tommy followed suit. It was like something out of the movies. Something that just wasn’t possible in reality. A shortstop, who hasn’t pitched in a year, pitches nine strikes, back to back, and ends the inning. It was truly remarkable. The Northstars were back up to bat.
But the eighth inning was the same story. No runs scored on either end, and before they knew it, it was the top of the ninth. The last chance for the Northstars to come back. Tommy was up to bat, and they were
He was dead tired. Everyone was out of gas. The sun hadn’t let up for the past two hours. Each player looked as if they had just hopped out of the shower as sweat poured down their clothes. The putrid smell body odor rose from the catcher and umpire into Tommy’s nose. He ignored it and focused long and hard, never losing sight of the ball in the pitchers hand. As the pitch came towards home plate, Tommy swung as hard as he could, missing the curveball by a hair. His hopes of making the playoffs began to disappear. The second pitch came right down the pipe, and at the crack of the bat, Tommy sent the ball past center field and over the fence. He jogged around the bases, with smile nine miles wide as turned third base and headed home. His team was waiting and cheering as he neared the plate. And then it happened.
Some say it was the heat that got to him. Some say he just couldn’t handle the excitement. Others say it was the head injury from the previous season.
As Tommy was about to touch home plate, he leaned over and picked up the baseball bat responsible for his walk-off homer. He never broke eye contact with the pitcher as he sprinted towards him, pulled the bat back, and swung for his skull.
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