“Coach, may I have another one?” I yelled so he could hear. I tried to pick up the ball that Coach hit my way, but I completely failed. Obviously, they had been playing this game for many years. The first player fielded the ball flawlessly and threw it like a dart to the first baseman.Įach of my teammates fielded Coach’s hits with precision. Like a chameleon, I stood in the middle of the line in a feeble attempt not to stand out as a beginner. Once you’re done, get back in line and wait until it’s your turn again,” Coach instructed. Get the ground ball I hit to you and throw to first base. I didn’t even know what that was, but I followed along. “Let’s all sit down in a circle and introduce ourselves.” “Alright!” yelled the coach in a southern accent. And this field is so gigantic! How am I ever going to play on this?! The players were warming up on a massively daunting field, talking and laughing as if they’d known each other all their lives. I knew it was useless to protest, so I surrendered to my fate.Īs we pulled up to the field, I saw something that shocked me like a horror movie. She chuckled and just kept driving to the baseball field. Like you always say, ‘the early bird catches the worm,’ so starting baseball at twelve years old will make me the early worm. “But Mom, I don’t want to go! Kids in that league have been playing their whole lives! It’s not a place for beginners like me! It’s too hard to start playing a new sport like this. “Your soccer season doesn’t start until spring, so I thought you might enjoy another sport in the meantime.” “I signed you up for a baseball team,” she said nonchalantly. Just as I was getting comfortable, she spoke the words that would change my life. I stuffed my belongings in the car, eager to go home and relax with my favorite video game before tackling my homework. “Um, should I call my mom?” I asked my teacher. It all started one seemingly ordinary day.Īfter a long day of school, I waited for my mom to pick me up. If someone had told me four months earlier that I’d be playing in the championship, I wouldn’t have believed them.
Just then, the pitcher adjusted his grip on the seams, lifted his front leg, and released the ball. After studying the catcher’s signs carefully, the pitcher nodded in acknowledgement of their secret language. I took a deep breath before crouching into my batting stance. Still, none of these irritations came close to the unease I felt as I walked up to the plate. My thick mask itched, and I longed to rub my nose on one of the long sleeves I wore underneath my jersey. The sun scorched its hot rays down my back. It was the bottom of the ninth inning, and our team was down by one run with two outs and the bases loaded. And I was on one of those teams - the Braves! Over the last four months, twenty teams had competed vigorously to earn one of two coveted spots for the championship game. It was the day our baseball team had worked so hard for-the Little League Championship Game.
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