As major league baseball opens its season and begins its run to fall classic I can't help but be reminded of this piece and the whirlwind of events that lead to my writing of this tale. In September of 2001 the twin towers fell and I lost family and friends that morning and gained a sense that nothing would ever be the same here in the city. Then on a Friday night shortly thereafter major league baseball resumed in New York City. For myself it wasn't until later in the game when Mike Piazza homered for the NY Mets. With that one mighty swing I started to feel we could finally exhale and some semblance of normalcy was returning to New York. That week I was also playing fast pitch softball in the midst of finals which were also interrupted by 9 - 11. Getting back to playing I knew would be the best thing for us just like in the majors. But it also focused all my emotions into this immense pressure to win as if losing would be a dishonor to all we lost that week.
I think all the guys needed to play too. We needed to vent angers, frustrations, grief and to feel normal again and we all took it out on that iconic white ball. Many of us obsessed on the games to get through our days biding our time until we could get back on the field at night. In between games I constantly went over the lineup and how I would approach every hitter, every at bat and every situation I could imagine. Walking past some of our cars which were covered in the dust of downtown. Business cards still clinging to the hood. Silent reminders of what could have easily been the fate of all of us who live and work in the city. What followed was an epic series of close games, shut outs, spectacular defense and pitching and an almost cliché game seven. It was incredible to me that we eventually came out on top and it was bittersweet to celebrate amidst all that went on that September.
I thought it was the most amazing thing we would do as a team and it was quite a feat and would be the fodder of dreams until the middle of 2002 season. That summer had a great beginning and thing were just rolling along smoothly until about July. The team we had defeated in the championship the previous fall had gone out and recruited a bunch of professional level players just to make a run at knocking us off this year and it made for some tremendous battles during the season. As the season went on they seemed to have found our number and started to beat us handily after we had jumped out ahead on them early. Then halfway through the season I had to have surgery to remove a tumor. While the prognosis was good, it meant six weeks of inactivity while I waited to heal. At 4 weeks I started to soft toss and at 5 weeks I pitched in the first round of playoffs and soon after we were on our way back to the finals. Just before the finals started my tumor markers started to rise again and I had to make preparations for a regime of chemo. As long as we had no rain-outs I was still going to make all 7 games if it went that far. Of course it would and the pressure by the end was almost unbearable. I always felt I would play again but it wasn't guaranteed anymore and those guys were so confidant they were going to beat us it just made me all the more determined. Once again September and October were months for dreams to come true.
I wanted to write a story to explain the motivation to why we play and what the game means to so many of us. What it was like to play against teams you're not supposed to beat and winning despite those tremendous odds. I wanted to recapture and perhaps relive the pressures and the tensions of those amazing games. I wanted to describe them as the chess matches that they are and tell of the strategy to these games all the way down to single pitches. I wanted to describe the mental game as much as the physical and also the wonderful camaraderie and euphoria of playing in those moments despite the pressures and emotions to the games. In the end they were only just games, some of the most suspenseful pressure filled ones I've ever played in but still just games. Had we lost it would have been immensely disappointing but we all would have come back for more and found solace in each other and in the game itself.
None of us would ever play in the majors but like most people we played softball. I was fortunate to play at some of the highest levels of the game and play it all over the country. but what every the skill level , every night in the summer there are probably millions of people playing in leagues being the best they can against all kinds of odds all across the country. For those of us that play, the league playoffs are our fall classics. Our chance to do something heroic and memorable while competing at the highest level we could just like those we often idolized on TV. So I wrote this piece to share some of what goes on in a season and what goes through the my mind in big spots and pivotal games. As I got close to the end I thought there was just something missing and I went back and added in the girl, because what is the point of it all if your cant share the things your passionate about with someone you love?
thank you again all for your time and comments, I can't say enough how amazing the response has been!
forever grateful
The Amoristicpillow
The Greatest of Games
As far back as I can recall when days were ruled by nap time and endless hours of play I already knew I loved the game. Maybe it was from seeing my dad watch it on TV and talk about it with relatives and friends or when my grandma gave me a uniform to wear on my 3rd or 4th birthday I knew I was born to play this game. I played all day when I could, throwing against a wall, playing catch with myself, baseball cards and keeping the book for games I saw on TV. Finally little league came around and that led to playing for my school then high school and onto college. But sometimes you lose focus the game wasn’t fun anymore and the pressure to go make a living quickly takes over and you leave it behind to enter the real world. After a few years away from it I hooked up with some friends in a local league and the game was fun again. It was competitive enjoyable and the rust was quickly replaced by skills I spent years developing. As a kid I dreamed of playing in the majors and winning the World Series single handedly, well it was a kids dream after all. Now I dream of playing with the guys I play with now playing at the highest level we can and coming out on top. You find out what your made of in situations like that and responding well is a great feeling winning would be the icing on the cake. I loved the guys I played with some of them were characters but we all got along great. It was like playing with a dozen of your brothers making our games as much a social gathering and it was a sport and that adds a certain dimension to the idea of winning too. Its funny what you think about in the middle of a game but that’s what was going through my head at the moment as I sat on the bench while my team took one more shot at scoring before the bottom of the ninth. Some days it’s a struggle and some days it’s a walk in the park tonight it was the stuff dreams are made of.
Tension was building long before we ever got to this point all the way back to early spring when we all imagine we have what it takes to win it all. This year early successes lead to confidence and we started to look ahead and dare to dream. The kind of dreams only champions have in that restful sleep only victory can induce. But dreaming has its price and just when you dare to believe reality can arrive abruptly and once again winning seems only achievable in dreams. Usually reality arrives in the form of the unbeatable nemesis. Sometimes it’s yourself and sometimes it’s a bigger, faster, stronger and more talented team who beats you so thoroughly and effortlessly it just doesn’t seem fair. They have it all over you more players with superior talent the best equipment. Even their uniforms are better matching from head to toe completing the total package. They never miss an opportunity to remind you how much better they think they are too. Every week you’re reminded in the standings and the tremendous gap between them and all the other teams in the league stats. They were the talk of the league about how unbeatable they seemed and were the favorite to win it all running away. Even people who watch as they pass by in the park can only comment on how good they are and how snappy they look. It was only a matter of time before they were handed the trophy.
By mid summer we were starting to wilt from the heat and losing our desire to keep fighting and forgetting why we play this game. It was early July and we were tied for third in our division with a chance to either move into second or drop to fourth and perhaps never stop dropping until we hit the cellar. I felt I had to do something to snap us out of this funk so I gathered the team together before the game for a little pep talk. I cant remember exactly what I said that night but I tried to impress upon them how much I enjoyed not just playing together but also having them as friends and that I’d rather play with them and lose than to play with the best team and win. But also that we were far from losers we were a scrappy bunch who knew how to win but we just weren’t playing that way lately and it was make or break time. As long as there is still a season left there is still hope miracles do happen ask Cinderella. So we have to fight back the thoughts of finding another hobby or moving to an easier division to play in. We love competing against the best too much to give up like this. If they knock you down get up brush the dirt off and get back in the game. Sometimes those pep talks work and sometimes you have to lead by example. I took the mound with a mission that game and after easily retiring the side in the first inning we immediately scored a few runs and we never looked back as that cocky confidence in ourselves came back and we all played more relaxed and with a smile. Of all the teams i've ever played for this bunch was by far my favorite. We had no real flashy players no perennial all-stars just hard working scrappy kind of guys. The kind that if you had to go to war these were the guys you wanted to fight beside.
Destiny seemed to be writing our story and we finished the season strong with the ball seemingly bouncing our way through the playoffs. Guys that struggled all year began to defy their batting averages gravity and any ideas of bodily injury and we were scoring runs in droves and playing like a well oiled machine. Game by game we fought our way through the brackets each advancement a more exciting game then the one before with the pressure building inning by inning until finally here we were. Holding onto a lead in the final inning of the final game our destiny was seemingly under our own control. We were nursing a one run lead and I breathlessly watched a deep fly ball land softly in the center fielder’s glove which he held in the air for a few seconds as if punctuating the end of our chance to score in the top of the ninth. Three more outs are all that stands between us and our little place in history and the tension was incredible and I loved every second of it. I walked out slowly to the mound tying to take in everything every sense of these final moments and to truly enjoy just being here. Soon enough there would be a winner and a loser but either way this was the most exciting game I’ve ever played in and I wish it could last a lot longer than it would. After my warm up pitches were done I watch the ball make the rounds of the infield as everyone was putting their touch on the ball for good luck as we did in every inning of every gave we’ve played since the playoffs started. Being the ninth we all met at the mound to slap gloves and give a final pep talk before trying to make our own final assault on goliath. I said, “Let’s have some fun boys!” and tagged my own mitt around that small circle and we headed into our respective positions. The stands were packed with fans some relatives and friends and people who always seem to be flowing through the park. There were a lot of guys from other teams in the league that didn’t make it this far too once rivals now cheering us on to beat the unbeatable foe. With a deep breath I set myself on the rubber put all those thoughts out of my head and began to work on the first batter.
I started with a strike o the outside corner get ahead with strike and get them out with balls was my plan and was working like a charm all night. These guys were over confidant and free swingers and although very dangerous hitters I was to my advantage as long as I kept them off balance and kept the ball where I wanted I would be alright. I came inside and high next and missed inside making the count one and one but I rather miss inside than over the plate and watch it get crushed hard enough to cause trouble. With the even count I dropped a curve inside and he swung early and pounded it into the ground for a foul ball. High heat proved irresistible and he chased strike three up in the zone. As easy as that we were two more outs away. Next batter swung at a pitch low in the zone and grounded out weakly to short. You have to love it when they help you out like that. All I needed was one more out. My heart was racing and I was taking longer between pitched to calm myself down and stay in control. I walked over towards the second baseman and shouted at him, “is this best or what?” with a big excited grin on my face. It seemed to relax us all and helped let a little adrenalin get burned off. I felt strong, almost invincible, like nothing was going to shake me from this zone I was in and deter me from my mission. At least that’s what I was thinking as I set up to pitch to the third batter of the inning. Waiting for the batter to get set in the box I glanced over towards the crowd and took in all the faces watching , some tense, some bored and some I wasn’t sure what exactly they were watching but they seems somewhat entertained. Then it happened, I followed the crowd towards the left end of the bleachers and standing just behind them, behind a few other people I could see her. She had he fingers interlocked and up by her mouth and I thing she was biting on one of her fingers. I thought that was odd, she was nervous, very much so that it visibly showed. This really made me have to stop and think about it, I mean why was she so nervous? She didn’t know any of the guys on the team. In fact she had spurned the advances of the more aggressive players on the team over the summer. If they saw a nice looking girl hanging around watching it was like chum in the water for the sharks and in no time they were circling. Most declined but like they say, take enough swings and sooner or later you hit something was their mentality.
I’ve seen her a few times before and she did watch some of our games every now and then, always from a distance but not close enough to really care about us I thought. I would often see her passing by as she made laps around the ball fields in her roller blades and she was absolutely beautiful. I often thought I should over pursue a ball and get close enough to say a quick hello, but never got the opportunity and the last thing I’m sure she doesn’t want is a big sweaty, dirty ballplayer running up to hit on her. Trying to figure out why she would be so visibly tense started to become a focus in my mind and before I knew it I was behind in the count 3 balls and one strike. I tried to battle back without giving anything good to hit and even got the count full at three and two. The batter deflected some tough pitches off before earning him self a walk putting the tying run on first. The next few batters had tremendous power and could easily win the game off pitch in the wrong spot. I tried to recall how I pitched to the next batter the last time he was up and I had worked him away coming inside when I was ahead and he had a poor swing at an inside pitch two or thee times tonight. I kept glancing over to the bench and she was still there as tense as ever. This was very strange, a few of the more suave guys on the team had approached her a few times and had a better batting average in away games than with her but she obviously had a deep interest in this game. It was a great game I thought to myself, but knowing she was watching me so intently had my mind out in right field somewhere. Before I realized it the catcher was right in front of me talking about the runner on first, and to work the batter away. “Sure” I said kind of numbly as I tried to focus again at the task at hand.
I resolved to try to talk to her after the game but first I had to get back to business. Coming to the set position I pick my target, my catcher’s right knee, which made for a tough pitch to hit being low and away. The only problem with that is if the batter is looking that way and just my luck he was. I was helpless as the ball went flying off deep down the right field line. The ball makes a certain sound when it’s hit hard on the bats sweet spot and to a batter its music to his ears but to a pitcher it’s like nails on a blackboard. Immediately I headed for third to backup in case there was a play but the ball caromed around in the corner and in an instant the tying run was on third and the wining run on second. Now even I was seriously nervous, “how was I going to pull this out of the fire?” I thought to myself a hit here would change our fate from destiny’s darlings to just second place team no one will ever remember. Walking back to the mound I checked the ball to see if had been torn in half from that ferocious smack, and tried to keep a calm exterior letting my team know I was still in control here, hoping they weren’t as nervous as me. They looked back at me with confidence in themselves and in me and I realized I didn’t have to be perfect here. I didn’t have to strike him out, if I could get a ground ball or a pop fly my guys were ready to make the play. With confidence in my team and myself and a deep breath, I stepped up to the mound again and got set to go at the next batter. I had a base open at first so I could pitch around the big hitter stepping in the box, but that would give me no room for error with the next. If they hit the winning run in its one thing, walking in the winning run would be unforgivable. I’ve been working away all night with fast balls so figured there was only one thing for me to do in this spot and I snapped off a curve right over the plate for strike one. I’m sure he was looking for heat away because he looked mad that I would start him off like that, some of these guys take this way too personal. Let him be mad I thought to myself, an angry batter is in my favor. To prod that anger I gave a sly smile of confidence and I could see his hands squeezing the bat ever tighter.
I had him right where I wanted him. He knew the fastball was coming but I put it up, chest high and towards the inside very hard to hit and even harder for this lug to resist and as quickly as that I was ahead with two quick strikes. I tried that high fastball again but this time he didn’t bit and worked the count to one and two. Next I hummed a belt high perfect fastball just off the plate hoping he would chase it or hit it weakly to and infielder but he held steady. He was smarter than he looked. “Even count” I thought to my self, still a good count to keep him guessing. The great ones said they could change the game by their will alone and if that was possible I was trying to do that right now. As I uncoiled and released to ball towards the plate I willed it to fly inside, to look good on the way and then break into the hands and keep the batter from extending his arms. Again it worked like a charm, with a mighty swing; all he could do was get jammed. Even the best pitches can have disastrous effects. Although I jammed him perfectly he got a small piece of the ball on the wrong part of the bat, sending it weakly through the air towards right, deep behind first. Because of his size and strength the ball deflected up and out over the infield and was drifting towards one of the few chinks in a well protected field. In slow motion I watched it sail towards the stretch of grass behind first along the foul line trying to judge the flight of the ball with those in its pursuit and the vectors didn’t seem to be in our favor. I don’t recall any sound during those moments, just the flight of the ball, the sense of motion as I ran to cover first and the second baseman’s face as he locked onto the drifting ball. My mind was trying to levitate him, send him soaring through the air like superman towards that rapidly falling ball. %