Softball field. Warm ups and then the main event starts: the game. This game, however, is no regular softball game. It’s the state championship game.
Tense situations filled the next two hours with a fight to the death of impeccable defense, shutout pitching, and pride.
The seventh inning has ended and the game is tied. Nothing to nothing. International Tie Breaker (ITB), the three most stressful words in the game of softball.
A softball ITB begins with the player who made the last batted out on second base. That girl’s one and only mission: cross home plate safely.
Our last batted out had come from our catcher and in softball pitchers and catchers get courtesy runners to help keep them fresh and keep the game moving. The courtesy runner today: me.
I anxiously observed the custom of standing next to the field umpire until the inning warm ups were complete and then, made my way out to second base while trying to move my heart rate back down to a healthy rate.
Our batter stepped into the box and everyone in the park knew what her mission was to do: bunt the ball to move me safely to third.
Mission complete. I stood on third as the other team took the out at first. All that stood between me and my complete mission was sixty feet of infield.
Next batter. This mission is trickier: do whatever it takes to score the base runner. This could include a hit, passed ball, or an error on the defense’s part.
First pitch is a ball. I look at my coach. He says, “You know what to do.” My heart is racing uncontrollably.
Second pitch is a ball. This one flies past the catcher. Without thinking, my legs take off. Closer, closer, closer…
“Down, down, down,” I hear emanate from my dugout. I slide into home. Mission complete.
I do not stand up, or at least I don’t remember standing up. Passed ball, run, slide, tears that is the order of what I remember.
Somehow I am no longer on the ground (my theory is I sprang instantaneously from my rear end straight to the air) and I am met by every single person in the dugout.
Tears, tears and more tears. Everyone is crying but not nearly as hard as I am. Every player embraces me and as the inning comes to an end we prepare to face the same challenge.
I was the base runner plain and simple. As everyone readied themselves for the first pitch I was still crying harder than ever before in the dugout.
The other team’s runner mounts second base. Everyone’s mission is the same: cross home, bunt the ball, get her in.
The bunt comes. Instead of the out at first we go to third. She is out. Mission failed. Next batter fails with a strikeout. And a third strikeout comes to end the ITB. We win with more tears still. Our joy is only for a short while because we must win again.
But in this game, the lowly base runner has done it. Mission complete.