Aaron walked slowly, nervously from the dugout to the plate, sliding his favorite bat back and forth between his hands. Stepping into the batter’s box, he pulled his gloves tight, cinching the velcro, feeling his heart beat, beat, beat, as if it were about to burst right out of his chest.
He took a huge, deep breath, attempting to shrug off the anxiety and excitement of the moment. The pitcher stared right at him, as he menacingly caressed the ball in his glove, calmly chewing a fresh stick of gum in pure intimidation.
Aaron looked up at the scoreboard – 3 to 3, bottom of the ninth, two outs. He gripped the bat tightly, focusing on the pitcher’s every move as he went into his elaborate wind-up.
The catcher hunkered down in his crouch, opening his glove wide and pounding it with his fist. Aaron could feel his coach pacing back and forth in the dugout as the crowd’s applause died down and faded away.
Silence.
Sweat beaded on Aaron’s forehead, running down over his face, dripping off his nose and chin, ever so slightly splashing into the clay on the ground below. Every breath he took seemed more intense, more labored than the previous one. If only he could wipe his eyes dry, he would be able to see the pitcher’s gestures nearly unobstructed. But, any deviation from his stance could ruin his concentration, at the very least, cause him valuable split seconds.
Seemingly without warning the ball zoomed right past him, making a horrible, disappointing thud right into the middle of the catcher’s mitt.
“Strike one!”
The fastest fastball that he had ever seen up to bat just whizzed by him in a blaze. He barely even caught a glimpse of it as it arched from the mound across home plate.
Aaron worriedly stepped out of the batter’s box, tapped off the clay from his cleats with his bat, then stretched as wide and as hard as he could, shaking off the sting of the strike as the catcher nonchalantly tossed the ball back to the pitcher.
The figure on the mound let his arms hang loose to his left and right, dangling to relax his muscles. The sun cast a bright light right in Aaron’s face, obscuring the outline of the entire infield. He squinted in defiance letting the sweat continue to bead on his brow and run down his cheeks, along his throat, and under his jersey.
The pitcher turned his ball cap left to right, right to left, briefly lifting it off the top of his head, swiping his hair back with his hand before pulling the hat back down over his head, as half the crowd applauded enthusiastically in congratulations to their team, while the other half sat completely quiet in disbelief by what they just saw.
Luckily, darkening rain clouds floated steadily in, providing enough interruptive shaded relief from the sun’s rays, allowing Aaron to see clearly, well into the outfield, where the defensive players stood ready.
The pitcher pulled the ball from his mitt, then slammed it back in a domineering manner. He clenched his glove tight, went into his wind-up, and delivered a looping curve ball just outside and low.
“Strike two!”
Aaron swung had barely missed – he almost fouled it. Now, with the count favoring the defense at two strikes and two outs, there wasn’t any room left for the slightest error.
Aaron stepped back out of the batter’s box, repeated the same cleat-beating cleaning gestures, loosened his gloves, and strapped the velcro tight again. This time, he wiped his brow before stepping back into the batter’s box.
The catcher crouched into his stance after throwing the ball back to the mound, then subtly delivered a cryptic hand signal to the pitcher. A hush swept across the crowd as the pitcher kicked his foot into the clay, tossing the ball into his mitt. As he went into his usual pre-throw routine, the clouds above began to let loose.
Rain trickled off the brim of Aaron’s helmet, the bat feeling slippery in his gloved hands. He concentrated on every little nuance coming from the formidable opponent on the mound, while a sense of relief came over him as the sun’s heat quickly dissipated among the raindrops.
The entire crowd sat eerily still.
Aaron waggled, carefully positioning his hands in the right place, shifting his weight in anticipation of another fastball, the rain now falling harder.
Suddenly, the ball came screaming at him at high velocity. Aaron’s reflexes kicked in instantaneously.
CRACK!
Aaron watched in exuberance as the ball flew toward the outfield, right between center and left, just high enough to clear the wall.
The crowd leaped to its feet, clapping and cheering while Aaron ran the bases in a moment of pure jubilation, looking up at the scoreboard, bottom of the ninth, two outs, 4 to 3.
