It was the top of the ninth, with two outs and a runner on third. I was nine years old. And I was the next up at bat. While I was little nervous, naturally, I was actually feeling pretty confident. I had played tennis since I was three years old, batted left-handed (because of how I hit a backhand), had one of the best batting scores on the team, and all I needed to do was hit a single. Just one single. One strike. Then two. And then! I hit a line drive…right into the third baseman’s glove. Game over. My initial rush of excitement deflated instantly, especially after I looked around to see my teammates, a group of nine year old girls, in unison, start to cry. And not just any tears, but like big dramatic sobs. I’m pretty sure seeing how badly I let them down sent me over the edge. So, like them, I started… All of the girls were now in the arms of their parents who were consoling them and telling them everything would be ok. I spotted my dad and wanted to do the same. I bolted for him, but he stopped me dead …

Share: