Championship playing

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The sun was setting over the right field fence. The situation was two outs, bases juiced, in the top of the third. The score board glared 1-3, in favor of the other team. I was focused on the task at hand; blocking out every scream from the fans and chants from the opponents dugout.
When I reached the batter’s box Coach Chad offered me to swing away. The entire game I had been studying the opposing ace, and figured out he always throws fastballs at the beginning of each at bat. I settled in the box, as I figured the right handed hurler slung a fastball. I sat dead red on the pitch; the ball was going right down the pike.
“Ting,” screamed the bat as it sent the ball flying toward left center. The sound of dirt sprang from under my cleats as I wheeled it into second without a throw. All three runs that had been on base scored. 4-3 was gleaming from the scoreboard; screams from around the field flooded my head. Coach Chad’s voice stood out the most. He was in the third base coaching box yelling, “Hell yeah! That’s how you play baseball! Way to come through in the clutch!”





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