The Homerun

The Homerun

The day held overcast skies, cool breezes, and fresh forest air as the batter took his place at the plate.
He is one of the few of his teammates who have not yet managed to breach the 200 foot fence. Though his team rallies around him, their fierce hope and the force of their wanting will not,alone, carry the batter’s ball to victory.

There is a slight sweat on his brow as he feels the pitcher sum him up. He knows the feeling well having just left the mound himself after pitching several no run innings. He wipes those thoughts away as he wipes away the moisture on his brow.

He focuses. Looking first into the eyes of the pitcher then solidly back at the ball. His eyes follow it, like a shell game, never wavering, as it is released into the shining gray day.

His decision-making is lightning-fast though it is a slower pitch than some. When he does swing, the crack of the bat is unmistakably sharp. For an instant, he thinks, “it was too low, I shouldn’t have swung!” but, nonetheless, instinctively, he drops his Marucci and begins his flight to first.

Running hard, the roar of the erupting crowd enters his perception and he turns his eyes toward the ball. As if in slow motion, he watches, amazed, as the ball sails high over the green outfield wall into the field beyond. Then, as if time suddenly catches up, exhilaration speeds up from his toes and rockets out of the top of his voice, breaking uncontainable joy all over his face and the faces of his teammates. He has done it!

“It seems,” he says to himself with a smile,
“it was a good hit after all.”