Baseball past- The Glory Days, or Day

It was a clear night, the night of our last baseball game of the season. Not a cloud in the sky, yet every member of our team was too preoccupied with the brutal thrashing we were about to experience to notice such details. Sure, we wore the cap of the Diamond Backs team proudly, but we were also a realistic group of 11 year olds. We had lost every game of the season save one, the pre-season scrimmage. Glumly standing in the outfield, I waited, watching batter after batter smack another homerun and head off towards the dugout after taking a victory lap. I remember it clearly, as if it were yesterday. The baseball diamond was flooded with light that night. The cold night air was misted by the dust rising from the infield, as player after player continued rounded the bases. It was clear that victory was far out of our reach. There I was, standing in the middle of center-field, squinting to see what was happening infield when the pitcher of our team suddenly took an injury, his arm snapping out awkwardly as the ball rolled from his hands. I knew right then that our fate had been sealed. I could see the coach from the other team, his arms tightly folded and a wide grin splitting his face in two. For a second I felt a surge of embitterment, until the thought crossed my mind “who's gonna pitch now?" Everyone else seemed to be wondering the same thing, as our coach called a time out. As the crowd sat, milling around and muttering, discussing our downfall, the team started to look around, sizing up each other with the thought of who’ll have a chance to end this game with dignity, or without it. The crowd watched silently as the coach started to walk towards me. "Dang it," I thought "I'm doing something wrong again." He sidled up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder and, in a strangely calm voice, said“Hayden”“Tanner, sir,” I interjected quickly.“Right, Tanner, we need your help tonight.” I was slightly confused, seeing as how I was already playing center-field, and I even did that poorly. There wasn’t much I could do to maintain this teams’ level of mediocrity. “We need you to pitch for us.”I was shocked, he must have been joking. The coach gave me a tired look, a look lacking hope as his eyebrows sagged.
“No,” I said, laughing at his ill attempted joke. He rubbed his eyes and pulled his eyebrows up to give me the appearance of confidence, but from the look in his eye I could tell that he was serious. I've never even pitched to another person before, I shouldn’t even be an option, but he wouldn't have no for an answer. Barely remembering to breathe, I slowly and timidly trudged up to the pitcher's mound, shaking so badly I must have appeared to be a blur. The catcher tossed me the ball, as it flew threw the air I squinted to follow it, being blinded by blazing light encompassing the field. I snagged the ball out of the air and the game started again. The first ball I threw didn't even make it to the catcher; it just bounced and hit the kid up to bat in the shin. A muffled blend of laughter and confused cheers came from the crowd, as if they weren’t sure it was supposed to be funny or if this was a serious effort. Seeing as this is the same group of supportive parents that had seen every embarrassing slaughter we’ve experienced, I take it that they were actually hoping this was a joke. After that I threw pretty darn hard, and things seemed to work pretty well. Once, twice, three strikes, out. Again, three strikes, and out. I was getting excited now, as the crowd felt the momentum and began to roar. I was getting excited now, forgetting about the small commonalities and techniques of the baseball game, such as my nonexistent pitching form, and occasionally forgetting the small commonalities and techniques of life, such as breathing. But my confidence is growing, vanishing completely during the final, game ending pitch.Throwing a really slow pitch, I knew the kid was going to nail it. I could see his eyes glued to the worn, leather torn ball, his body tense with concentration, and everyone knew it was over the minute it left my hands. As his bat made contact with the ball, the cracking sound sent a thousand images of pitching injuries that occur when the batter hits the ball back at the pitcher, all resulting in embarrassing and crushing pain. As a complete act of self-preserving cowardice, I swung up my mitt to guard my face from anything that came my way. As if in slow motion, as I watched my mitt rise up to shoulder length, the very baseball that had left it just moments ago, soared back into it with a resounding Thwack! Not a single sound interceded that one, as for the next ten seconds all you could hear was the echo of that catch. Finally, as everyone registered what happened, the crowd went wild. Our team poured off the field in an awesome frenzy as we gathered around the coach to say our goodbyes for the year. That last catch ended the game, and thanks to me we only lost by five. I may not have walked away from that game with a trophy, but I did walk away with the game ball, and my five minutes on the pitcher’s mound, which is worth more than any trophy could have given me. All my baseball career had been spent going unnoticed, being a team player in the outfield. Not everyone got a chance to prove their worth, and of those few, many people often need a second chance to prove their worth. I was lucky enough to get a chance to save the day, to be a hero, and that day on the mound made that time spent worth it. Imagine That!