I awoke to weak, swore, swelling muscles, not
because I had to play three games, but because I had to lose three
games. In my bed I sat wondering why we wake up at six a.m. every
Saturday morning just to play and lose. Most people would say it’s just
a game; it’s just for fun. Who cares if you lose? I have never been
happy about losing, and I have never seen someone who is happy about
It didn’t shock me when we came home with a record of 0-3. We let three
other teams score a total of twenty runs, whereas the other teams only
gave us one run. The teams found beating us as easy as writing their
names. There’s a part of me that wants to have confidence in my team—I
believe in them and that they will always work their hardest—but I want
to be able to feel that breathtaking moment when you win.
It was when I got a group message with my team that all hopes and dreams
were lost. On Sunday we would be playing Sting, one of the toughest
softball teams. My mouth dropped to the floor. I had received
innumerable texts saying that we were going to lose and we should just
forfeit, but I realized that with that type of attitude then we were
definitely going to lose. No matter how hard I tried, words were just
like parents: nobody listened to them.
My heart stopped for the first time when the umpire said, “Play!” We
started off the first three innings with a tie, 1-1. Could we actually
have a shot? No. The Sting’s next batter hit a two run triple leaving
the score 3-1, and that’s how it stayed for the next two innings. Now it
was our turn to shine like a star, it was our last chance, we were up to
bat. Batter 1 hit a line drive right to left field, safe. Batter 2
grounded it out to 3rd, out. Batter 3, a tall and powerful hitter,
ripped it up the middle, safe. Runners on first and third, Batter 4, me.
The count was 3-2. I had been fouling ball after ball. Then the perfect
inside pitch came right in. I twisted my hips with all force, my bat
came around to the center of the plate, the ball screaming my name, and
it connected with my bat and hit it out over left. I stood staring—oh,
wait! Run. I flew from my stance. Taking every step with caution, I
rounded first, I rounded second, I rounded third. My coach, a short,
intelligent, muscular man, kept telling me to go! Did I hit it that far?
Exhausted and running, my face drenched in sweat, my feet tiptoed onto
home plate, feeling nothing but satisfaction. I was greeted by hugs and
cheers while being tackled to the ground. We won!
This was my breathtaking moment. When we won, I felt as if I were on top
of the world, and I was so proud of my team. With our heads in the game,
we could accomplish any goal, and win any game we wanted to. With eleven
letters, eleven girls, and one team, nobody could take Blue Thunder