Curveball outside.
“Ball one!”
Change up low.
“Ball two!”
Now, he has to throw a fastball down the middle.
Crack!
“Going, going… Gone! And the magnificent Steve has done it again, winning the game for the Arrowheads!”
I can still hear the announcer now. I know that I am good at what I do, but everybody is making me feel like I am better than I really am. Or, do I really live up to all of the hype? Am I, Steve, really “the best baseball player to ever come through Philips County”? Am I really one day “going to represent our small town well in the Major Leagues”? I guess I’ll see how things go after this scout tournament.
“Steve, I have something to tell you,” said my sister, Laura. I could feel the negative energy in the air.
“What is it?”
“I was laid off today. Apparently there were budget cuts, and, of course, they fired me because I am the only Black person.”
I could see her eyes begin to water with frustration. Ever since Mom died, my older sister worked extremely hard to provide for us. She is only twenty-two years old, and she has been working for six years. I remember when she went on her first day of work; she missed my game-winning hit for the twelve-year-old all-star team that I played for. I never knew my father, because he left my family when my sister was young, and the game was a couple of weeks after Mom’s passing. I celebrated with only my team that day.
“I was the hardest working person in that entire office!”
The tears are rolling now.
In my sympathy for the both of us, I asked, “Maybe you should sue them. They cannot do that to you—or, rather, to us!”
She reminded me that, “we cannot afford a lawyer. I’ll just have to look for another job.”
I walked over and gave her a large hug, and promised her that everything would work out. We wept together for about 10 minutes, and proceeded to eat our TV dinners and go to bed.
All the while, I remembered that I could end our suffering if I lived up to the expectations of my community. I had the first game of the scout tournament coming up, and I was ready. I spent a week in the batting cages, awaiting the tournament.
Finally, the time came. I showed up in my stir-ups and red jersey. The sweat stains on my hat accurately represented how hard I worked to get to the level I was at. There were a few people over six feet tall, and there were a few people over two-hundred pounds. However, I noticed that I was the only one that was a combination of the two traits. This made me a shoe-in.
The other catcher, however, was very similar to my size. His name was Brian; I remembered him from the first game of my senior year. That game, he was the one to get the clutch hit and win the game for his team. We were similar sizes, and at similar skill levels.
Before the game, they recorded pop-up times. Our times were identical at 1.8. I knew that the day would be a challenge. When the game started, we both performed well. We threw out 3 base-stealers each in the first 8 innings. I got us ahead in the games, with my superior hitting skills. Unfortunately, he always got a timely hit to keep his team in the game. I realized that my next, and likely last, at-bat would be very important. Before stepping into the box, I looked at Laura giving me a thumbs-up. Then, I heard mom’s voice in my head:
“Son, no matter what predicament you are in, or how good things look for you, always stay humble; things can change in a quick hurry. Always be happy for whatever positives you have going on, and do not complain when things are rough.”
I stepped into the box.
I remember this pitcher. He pitched for the Venoms in the tournament last year. He struck me out three times that tournament. Each time, he decided to start off with a change-up. That is likely what I will get this time.
I was right. Crack! I dropped my donated bat and began to round the bases. I knew that the ball would clear the fence; I did not need to look at the ball go out for assurance. As I rounded third base, I looked into the crowd and saw my sister jumping and yelling. I, again, heard my mother’s voice, repeating the same verse. By the time I stepped on home plate, I had a single tear falling down my cheek.
The next half inning, Brian came up to hit with a runner on base. We were winning 10-9 in the bottom of the ninth inning. There were two outs. I gave the pitcher the signal for a fastball on the outside corner of the plate. Once the ball left the pitcher’s hand, I could see that things would not work out so well. The ball was coming toward the middle of the plate. Crack! Brian hit the walk-off homerun and won the game for his team. He dropped the bat and walked pompously around the bases, all the while staring at the pitcher. This was really disrespectful, but why did it matter? They had one. It was over.
However, in the parking lot, a scout walked up to me.
“Hey there, son. I am here to offer you a contract for the Florida Marlins. They are willing to give you a large signing bonus of $2 million. How does that sound?”
My heart dropped, just as it did when I heard that I was never going to see my mother again on this Earth. However, this time, it was more exciting than depressing.
“Why are you not offering this contract to Brian?”
“Brian’s attitude was sub-par. I really appreciated how humble you acted after you hit that timely homerun. Body language is very important.”
Wow.
“Well, sir, I think we can make a deal here. This is an offer I cannot refuse. Thank you very much.”
As I walked away toward Laura, one more tear rolled down my left cheek. My sister never has to work again. I have done it. We have done it.
