At the crack he ran hard. He turned his hips to the right, put his head down and went. He could tell by the sound he was going to need to give it everything he had. He could hear the voices of his old coaches telling him to get to the spot, to just go. They’d said if you weren’t going to run hard and play your heart out, why bother playing.
The grass felt good beneath his feet, firm and level. He trusted it, knew he didn’t have to look down to make sure he didn’t step in a hole or that there wasn’t a dip like the fields of his youth.
He hadn’t cared to look then, he’d just loved the wind on his face and the desperate race to a spot – the further the better. He loved the nervous feeling in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to make the few folks in the stands applaud.
Now there was the collected gasp of 50,000 people sucking in their breath from the edge of their seats, eyes trained on him as he raced backwards. He didn’t feel them. He was focused on the spot. He never felt so alive as he did when he was on the run, chasing. It heightened his senses; filled up his heart with a joy he’d never been able to explain when they asked him why he ran so hard.
He looked up, losing sight of the ball in the cloudless blue sky for just a moment before finding it again without breaking stride. He had a chance. That was all he ever wanted.
His right foot hit the dirt of the track and he knew he had three strides before the wall. He could hear Thompson yelling ‘fence, fence’. He didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. He knew what was riding on this.
He took another step and braced himself, leaping hard off his right foot and stretching out his left hand toward his target. He was almost parallel to the top as he slammed into the wall and felt the ball tip off his glove over the fence. The crowd roared before everything went black.
In the locker room later each man came over to shake his hand and tell him what a great effort it was. More than one said it was the most amazing thing they’d seen on a ball field.
Thompson came up last. “I don’t know why you do that to yourself Jim. It was amazing, but it’s only a game.”
“Nah Tommy, it wasn’t.”
“Sure it was. They’re all just games.”
“No, they’re more than that.”
“What’re they then?” Thompson asked shaking his head in disbelief.
“Everything.”
I was just wondering if or when there’d be a new post. I’m glad it was baseball related! I really missed not being part of this years post season, and I’m holding my breath till they tell us whether or not they’re keeping Mookie Betts. Holding my breath, keeping my fingers crossed, knocking on wood, and anything else I can think of that’ll keep him here!
It’s definitely going to be an interesting offseason…I think they keep him for this year at least.