The Second Game

The big, yellow ball feels slippery in my hand; My catcher seems a football yard away. I’m shaking, shaking like a leaf. All the sounds and cheers fell away as I drew my arms back and pitched; two strikes and three balls; it’s a full count. It’s either me or her now; my team or hers. I take a moment to catch myself, to look at the twelfth people looking up at me to strike her out. I got on the mound and got as ready as I could be, I drew my arm back once again and pitched. Two strikes and four balls, a walk, I walked her, I walked her like many others before. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t. My bones feel weak, the sun a little too bright, I can see the disappointment on the coach’s face, and smell the defeat on my teammates. I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to see how my inexperience cost my team this amount of loss, but I don’t think I can do better than this.

The season just started, we didn’t have enough people and we didn’t have a main pitcher so I volunteered to practice as hard as I could. The only help I had was from YouTube videos since my coach didn’t specialize in it. I did what I could, I practiced at home, in class, wherever I could. The first game came in a few weeks, I was nervous and scared but I tried. It was the first time I pitched in a game, the first inning was a one, two, three strike out. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, my blood was pumping and I was ready to be the pitcher for the whole season. I did in a few weeks what others took years to perfect, I got on that mound and pitched like a pro. The innings went by, and I walked a few but I also striked some. By the end of the game there was no doubt that we won. It was our first win, not only in the season but since I’ve been on the team. I couldn’t wait to see what was in store for me and my team as their pitcher. We had a few days in between the first game and the second one, so I practiced like my life depended on it. I tried different types of pitching, curve, change-ups, and more as I tried to do right by my team.

The morning of the second game I thought I was ready, ready to pitch and ready to win. I sat in class as I thought of all the ways I could strike out the other players. By the time the game started I started to shake. It felt like this invisible coldness had come over me, felt like my blood was slowly draining out of my body. I can’t do this, I thought. My teammates tried to help me but they didn’t understand, they didn’t understand the pressure like a boulder on my chest, weighing down my body and making my limbs feel like Jello. I was disappointed in myself that I wasn’t good enough, that my practice meant nothing. Rage, sadness, this was my last season and I couldn’t even make a good impression. I was angry that I didn’t get the help I needed, that my team wasn’t given a chance to be great.

For the past two years I’ve played on the softball team, it was a chance to escape and to be happy. I met people that I formed bonds with through playing and common interests, it was my safe space. I practiced many positions. The one I loved playing the most was center field, I loved catching the ball mid air and running to back the other outfields up. I love playing with my friends and learning how to better myself. But my last year, I had to change positions because our old pitcher graduated. I was excited to see where this new position would take me. But I learned that it came with many obstacles and challenges that I had to overcome.