Top of the third inning I am called in to relieve. Balls are practically frozen, bats feel like lead, and don't get me started on running. Walking over the frosty grass onto the unforgiving dirt, my elbow has no feeling and my pitches just float over the plate. Time feels like molasses but I can’t turn back now.

The first game I pitched I was given a great chance to show Coach what I knew I had in me.
   

 “Can you get us out of this?” the question felt like a cold slap to the face. Bases loaded with one out, this was bad.
   

 “Uhh I’ll try.” Why would I say that? That sounded so lame! Lets just say it did not go so well.
     

But things have been good recently. I was getting hitters out, I relieved in four of the past six games and I was “the sevie who didn’t suck” according to the eighth graders. These games it felt like I had power in my stride, and the loving warmth of the sun didn’t hurt.
     

This game was different. I had to come in and mop up a this mess, this cold mess. The game probably should have been played in winter coats, and the frozen pond was probably warmer than my arm.
     

When I jogged out to the makeshift pitching mound to warm up mid-inning, I felt like I had lost all coordination and the sharp wind just tossed my weak arm around. I was so afraid of this lack of control, that I threw away my power and just tossed the ball over the plate.
     

Coach had swapped out two of our best fielders because they made some dumb mistakes. “Why did he have to do this, I mean c’mon they’re the best of this sad situation, why won’t he just leave them in?!?” I continuously complain to my teammates about how we are “dead in the water” and “have no chance.” I liked throwing around my opinions and complaining about game decisions. This turned on me when I went to the mound.
   

 “Okay kid you got one out bases loaded, go get ‘em,” as the umpire sincerely encourages me, my legs felt empty because I had to take control in the midst of chaos. I knew in my heart that I was better than these kids I had to pitch to, suddenly I had something to work with. My face was tightening and my ears were freezing, but I was throwing strikes and playing tough.
     

Damn, can you help me out and field a ground ball. “Here we go now move past it and pitch,” mindless encouragement from coach pesters me.
   

 C’mon now be tough, the best pitchers surge through this stuff, no matter what. Don't be a head case just throw the ball.
     

Anyway, a few runs scored but I had done what I could. “Hey listen, you got 5 outs when we only needed two,” my coach reassures me. This was an excuse and I did not like complaining and making excuses but to be fair, it was accurate. Finally some recognition, glad to know I'm not alone out there.
     

I had earned some respect. No one gave me a hard time when I had let in runs, I had the peace of mind knowing that I had done my job, and even better, everyone knew I did what I could.
     

I was lost at sea on the pitching mound, I was sinking and losing my mind. I had found a buoy that was my excuses. I now had a newfound zip on my fastball, and I was throwing well enough.

Unfortunately the clouds flooded the sky and blocked out the warmth, which was already insufferable because of the cruel wind. The heat was now leaking out of me and I had nothing. I lost my stride and my power in an instant. I could feel it all ending, and it hurt. Every time I lifted my leg to stride, it was a lost cause with little hope.
     

“You’ve done more than enough, sorry you didn’t get much help behind you,” coach mumbles with disappointment. He was not disappointed in me, and not even in the rest of the team, but in this day and this game.
     

Now you can stop with the excuses, man up. As my teammate was coming to the mound I warned him of his fate, “It’s gonna be tough and you might not get much help.” Should I have said this? Was I too frank? We were so far out of the game it didn't matter whether he let up zero or a hundred runs.
     

The day was over, no real emotion shown by anyone. I downed a sandwich and I had added a new, yet foggy, memory to the collection.