It’s an out.
“Coop!” Robby yelps before my body hits the ground.
I land. Roll.
I come up and fire the ball to him at first a split second before the runner dives back for the bag.
Everything hangs in slow motion while I look at the first base umpire.
Ifeeleveryone around me holding their breath.
Dude curls his hand into a fist, and I barely hear the word leave his mouth. “Out!”
He’s out.
Double. Fucking. Play.
Game.
Over.
Game over.
We won.
We won.
The Copper Valley Fireballs, loserest of the losers, have won the World Series.
We did it.
We did it.
I’m still on one knee.
Robby’s bouncing with joy. Darren hollers in the outfield. Frankie and Brooks and Diego rush the mound, everyone throwing gloves and whooping and celebrating.
And I bend over and I kiss the grass.
This grass.
This grass.
This is the grass I watched as a kid. The grass I’ve sweated on, bled on, cried on.
It’s been here as long as I have.
And then the grass is gone because I’m being pulled to my feet by my teammates.
Notthe mound.
Jesus.
They were rushingme.
As if it didn’t take every last one of us on this team to get here.
Andhereis gonna take some time to process.
