As I was standing there, the batter was looking straight at me. I felt the cold stare from the crowd in the stands. They hated my team with a passion. My arm and legs were tense as I was getting ready to throw. The umpire seemingly got set and the catcher gave me the signal for a top left fast ball. The seams on my sky blue and gold jersey started to stretch, giving me the room to make my throw. The catchers helmet glistened in the Sun. The bat, although being wooden appeared to be a pearlescent gloss styled aluminum quality. The batter’s jersey turned into a blob as it was cobalt on cobalt coloring. Having one arm in front and one arm behind, just slightly being lifted up behind his head.

It was the bottom of the ninth, two outs, three balls and two strikes. There were people on first and second, both I felt were getting ready to take off. I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen. Not since we were leading by only one. The batter’s face screamed vengeance. He wanted to get back at us for the soul crushing victory yesterday. Sweat drained from my pores, and seeped down my face, neck, and arms.  They were either absorbed by my shirt or dropped off into the turf. I couldn’t let my team down. I felt chills down my spine with that thought being bounced around in my mind. I raised my glove with ball in hand, cocked back my leg, started my pre throw ritual.

As soon as my pre throw was good, I set my right arm back with my left following it, keeping the ball covered at all times. In a split seconds notice, I threw the ball with everything I had, straining my arm. As I was looking down, I was able to feel the cower from the audience, right after I heard the words I’ve been waiting for. “STRIKE”.