It's bottom of the ninth.
We're losing by 2.
The bases were loaded.
WIth 2 outs.
In the championship game.
All or nothing.
Win or go home.
And I'm coming up to bat.
My bat resting on my shoulder is a comfort.
My batting gloves, tight to my hands.
My elbow guard strapped tightly to my elbow.
I place my right foot into the batter's box.
I look down at our coach.
My left foot follows the same path.
I swing my bat in a circle.
The pitcher lifts his leg and fires a bullet.
It's on the outer half of the plate.
I pull my hands in front of the ball and let my hips do the work.
The ball makes solid contact, and my wrists roll.
The ball flys of the bat.
It curves down the first base line.
The ball hits in fair territory.
I round first.
My head is already down.
I've never run faster.
My right foot taps the inner half of second.
I'm three steps away from third.
I know I'll be safe.
I don't have to slide.
But what's the fun in that.
I belly slide into third base.
I stand up and pound my chest.
I only have a few seconds before the mob comes.
AKA, my team.
My hand is up in the air.
And my teammates are everywhere.