As he waited for his turn Raul’s thoughts turned to Puerto Rico where he grew up playing baseball bare-footed and on sandy lots that often doubled as junk yards.
He slowly rocked the bat back and forth in a pendulum movement as he prepared himself to get in the zone and send the ball over the stadium wall and high into the bleachers where fans would scramble to get the prize. He tried not to pay attention to the umpire who was barking out calls like a drill sergeant addressing new recruits. He was aware of the huge audience staring down at the field like forward observers in a military unit exercise. He imagined his mother’s voice calmly telling him to relax and to focus to the task at hand.
It was high noon and the heat of the day was well on its way to hitting a record temperature in the high nineties for this time of year. Sweat beaded up on his brow, and he automatically wiped it away as he watched two of his teammates on base – second and third – who were inching away from the plate to get a quick start when the crack of the batter’s bat sounded off like a gunshot.
Raul took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then the batter made contact with the ball and sent it high into right field where it was easily caught. That meant there were two outs. That also meant that the fate of the team rested on his shoulders here in the 9th inning. He slipped the weight off of his bat and purposely strode to home plate. His face was a mask of concentration as he took his position and waited for the first pitch.
It came in at 100 mph and low inside. He struck at it and missed the ball by an inch. A murmur went up in the restless home crowd. The umpire barked, “Strike one!“
Time was suspended for a moment while Raul thought about all of the sacrifices he made to get to play professional baseball. Today was his first game in the big leagues. His grip tightened on the bat as the pitcher wound up and hurled another heater toward the plate. His eyes tracked the ball’s velocity and height and when he swung, he made solid contact. His joy was quickly replaced by concern when the ball went out of bounds. He had one strike left before the game was over. He knew it would be the rookie’s fault if the game were lost. His teammates would look at him with scorn and wonder how he ever got a professional contract.
The doubts hovered over him like banshees haunting his thoughts as he watched the pitcher wind up while saying a silent prayer. He was aware of the catcher making a sign in his glove when the ball came at him like a rocket.
The crowd cheered lustily as Raul’s double careened off of the center field wall and the fielder’s throw didn’t make it in time before both of his teammates passed home base. He looked up at the sky and thanked his mother who’d been in heaven for three years now.
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The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff 