You and I are different. I lack humility and the ability to be shameful. All I can say is when you got to go, you go to go.

The first sign of trouble came in the fifth inning of a Junior Varsity baseball game, when I was standing in left field.

“Dude, J, I gotta go!” I called out to the centerfielder, unaware that my shortstop (and the other fans) could hear me. Jassiel, who was Mr. Serious on the diamond, yet fun loving off it, turned from his position and gave me a really awkward look.

“Haha! Just hold it, man,” Justin yelled back across the outfield. Justin was not the guy to go to in this situation. He will help a friend when he’s down, but he also won’t hesitate to trip a friend to get a laugh.

“No s***, Justin! Thanks for the great advice.” Tool. At the time I figured it was no big deal. The team we were facing sucked so we would finish the inning quickly and I’d go relieve myself.

“Let’s go, Shamoun!” Coach LaMay tried to energize our starting pitcher.

Ay, there’s the rub. The opposing team sucked so we didn’t throw our good pitchers at them. Shamoun wasn’t necessarily bad; he just didn’t have command of the strike zone like our other pitchers. Nor did he throw as hard or have as good of junkball pitches. Brandon High School, the other team, got the occasional walk and the softly hit seeing-eye single up the middle. Nothing was hit to me. I couldn’t run off the pressure that was currently building up in my bladder. Instead, I had to hop, pinch and awkwardly dance the pressure away
“Ey, whatta say Shamoun?” I crossed my legs hoping this inning would be done soon.

“Come on now, kid.” A weak dribbler was hit to Jassiel at short. With a toss to first, the inning was over. Finally! I ran to the bench about as fast as my feet would let me. Running felt so good. Took away some of the build up down there. When I got to the bench, I thought I was home free and could just scurry off into a tucked away corner behind the school and relieve myself.

“Burger, Chapman, Sims, Morris.” Shit. Just when I thought everything was going good. I was due up fourth to hit. I didn’t want to risk being taken out of the game just for having to take a leak. That would be humiliating. Besides, I ran the urge off, everything would be fine.

Brian Burger walked. Jacob Chapman walked. Jake Sims walked. Those three at-bats took fifteen minutes. When it was eventually my turn, I wasn’t thinking about what pitch I should be looking for, or how I could score the runs, all that was on my mind was how upset I was and how much time I had to go to the bathroom. I could’ve have gone to the bathroom in the time it took for the pitcher to walk me. Two wild pitches, ball that nearly hit me, a pitch I had to take and finally ball four. The pitcher did not see the urgency in the situation.

Now it was just Jake and me on base; Jake was at 3rd and I was on 1st. To no one’s surprise, the batter after me walked. On second, no outs, I would score in no time and go to the bathroom. Our number four hitter got a single right past Brandon’s third baseman and things are beginning to look up now. I was ninety feet from being safe at home and safe from an accident. All Dylan Peck had to do is hit the ball and no matter what the outcome, I’d be off the base paths. He struck out. Surely, I thought, the next guy would drive me in. Strike one. Strike two. Strike three. He was out.

“Come on!” I jumped up and down on third base. “Let’s go!” All the walking around the bases I did canceled out the running from earlier. My bladder was filled more now than ever.

“Seriously, Coach O, I have to go to the bathroom so bad.”

I was hoping Coach Ostrom would say something like, “OK, Connor, no problem. You can sit this next half inning out and then you’ll go back in, just like Alan did earlier this season.” That was the response I was looking for from Coach Ostrom.

What Coach O really said was, “Just piss your pants” Before jumping to conclusions, no, I did not take him seriously. I knew he was kidding.

If Andrew Fairse could get a hit or walk, that might be able to buy me enough to go in between the innings. Of course, he flew out. I had no time, I had to go to the bench, get my glove and go out on the field. That’s when things went downhill – fast.

“Justin! I really have to go.” Panic was really starting to settle in.

“Are you kidding me, Connor?” Fairse, the goofiest kid on the team, who was at third, now knew about my ever worsening problem. “You’re so dumb.” If Andrew Fairse calls you dumb, then you know you’re an idiot.

“Dude,” Justin had a brilliant idea.” Just turn around and go.” Brilliant…

“I can’t just do that, man. There are fans right over there.” It was a 60 degree day in late May, but I was starting to sweat now. “I can’t hold it much longer.”

“Unzip your pants and hold your glove in front so no one can see.” This idea was a bit better, actually.

“Screw it, I’ll do it.” That’s when I remembered I had compression shorts on and there was no way of situating it without getting the cops called on me for indecent exposure. Time basically stood still for the next few minutes. I did all that I could to prevent the inevitable. I didn’t care what the fans saw me grab. I could pinch, grasp, and squeeze all that I wanted, but when you got to go, you got to go.

It started small, like a tiny crack in a dam. But even in the best of dams, a tiny crack always leads to a flood. Before I knew it, my light gray pants were now dark on the inner thigh. And it wasn’t from my shadow.

“I couldn’t hold it…” That’s all I could muster up to say to Justin.

“No way!”

With eyebrows raised and mouth open, Jassiel spun around, “Are you serious?”

All I could do was cock my head sideways, shrug my shoulders, and throw up my arms.

Fairse let out a goofy laugh, bared his goofy grin, stared and my pants and mumbled, “Oh my God!” Neither of the guys cared too much about the game going on to their turned backs. What was going on in the outfield was much more entertaining

Brian laughed hysterically from all the way over in right field. Jake, at second, didn’t make a sound. He just let his jaw hit the dirt and stared in amazement at what he was seeing: a sixteen year old boy who just peed his pants – on a baseball field. The rest of them team would be let in on the joke soon enough.

When I got back in the dugout, Weston Lee, who was taking stats, was the first to notice, “Connor, what’s on your leg?”

“Uh..Noth…” I got interrupted by Brian

“Piss!”

Matt Rodgers always had to chime in, “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope!” Brian answered for me again.

“Ha! Nuh uh!” Shamoun just stared at my piss stained pants. “I thought I heard something about you having to piss, I just didn’t think you were serious.”

“Ya know, in my 20 plus years of coaching, I’ve never had a kid listen to me when I told them to pee their pants.”

“You never had a player like me, coach.” I just tried to make the best of a bad situation and laugh it off. There was a bigger issue at hand. We were in the middle of a tournament and had to play a game right after we won this game. I reached in my bag and pulled out my cell to text my mom. Don’t ask, I’ll tell you later. Run home and grab my extra pair of pants. I need them. Love you!

Stephanie, the trainer, was at another game and was late to ours. When she sat on the bench with the rest of the team, I started rubbing up against her.

“What are you doing?” The rest of the guys were cracking up at her blissful ignorance.

Justin put it most elegantly, “Connor is a dumbass and peed himself.” Steph jumped up and questioned my intelligence and age level.

After we won, parents were the next to find out. They kept asking me questions and making snide comments but I was able to shrug it off and just laugh at myself. When my mom showed up with a change of pants, I told her what all went down and she joined the list to laugh at me. My team went on to win the tournament, but it’s safe to say that’s not what we will remember about the day.

I like to think I’m the s***. But, on that cold day in May – it turns out I was really just the pee. At least I was number one…