There’s a man on first, one out, and we’re leading two to one.
If we can hang on to this lead, we’ll have done it.
We’ll be the champions.
Trevor rubs the ball in his hand and turns to look around at all of us. “Ready?” he asks me.
I nod and punch my fist into my glove, squatting into position. “You got this, Trev.”
Brooks gives abring itfrom third. Frankie bounces twice on the balls of his feet at shortstop, then squats too. Emilio, Luca, and Darren are in the outfield. Robby’s guarding the runner at first.
Diego squats behind the plate while the entire rest of the team, coaching staff, pitching staff,everyone, hangs out at the dugout rail.
The first pitch is a ball.
Second’s a strike.
My balls are sweating.
I can feel everyone else’s balls sweating.
Two more outs. Two more outs. Two more outs.
One more ball.
One more strike.
One more ball.
Fuck.
No, concentrate, Rock.
Concentrate.
We’re fucking doing this. And then we’re doing it again next year.
Trevor puts his foot on the rubber on the pitching mound, shakes his head twice at Diego’s suggested pitch, then nods.
He tucks the ball into his glove, lifts his leg, pulls back his pitching arm, and lets it fly.
A split second later, there’s acrack. A blur of a ball streaking between me and Brooks.
I don’t think, I just move. I miss this, we’re tied, because I miss this, and it’s going in the corner in the outfield, and that runner on first will make it all the way home.
Don’t miss don’t miss don’t miss dive dive dive dive—
I dive.
It’s far.
It’s so far. I don’t know if I can—
And then it’s there.
The ball isin my glove.
It’s an out.
