The Catch! (Short Story)

In any sport there is nothing like winning a championship. Whether it is Little League Baseball or Major League Baseball, this is the one common goal every team and every player has; it surpasses all others. Many players aim for trophies, but nothing else pertaining to sports is comparable to the feeling an athlete gets from winning a championship. Some professional players spend their whole careers chasing after a championship, and yet they never get one. Whether the player is self-centered or a team player, once he tastes a championship he will cherish that feeling forever above all other feelings that sports can bring a person…

Drizzle poured out from the clouds, creating a dusk sky on a mid-summer evening. Nervous twitching and the chill in the air combined to create a force which caused every fiber of my body to shake from within. I was standing in left field at Hart Middle School and I could not keep myself still! I cherished the situation, the reason for being there, and the satisfaction and excitement that this brought me, but I loathed the circumstances of the moment. The gloomy, insecure feeling that the smell of rain gave me invaded my senses, telling me to despise the notorious circumstances. I do not know how long I had been standing in that place, but it was longer than I wanted to be there – any insignificant moment in time was too long to be in that place! There was a clash between my critic and my muse. My critic repeatedly said, “I want to go to the dugout. I want to go home. I wish this game would hurry up and get over.” “No!,” my muse continued to answer, “This is an important moment – it will mean a lot to me someday – I need to dial in, stick it out, and give it my all until it is over.”

I had recently messed up in a similar situation earlier in the season, and I was not looking forward to my next encounter with competition. In fact, I was already at a disadvantage because I was not only terrified of making a mistake, but I was continually focused on the negative possibilities, predestining myself to an ill-fated happening. I despised any and every chance of failure. Every time I was faced with a fork in the road, in regards to competition, I wanted to shy away; but once again, I fearfully took up the challenge that was presented to me, knowing that I may never get another chance at this. Constant embarrassment due to insecurity was a part of life and there was no way it would miss an opportunity to rear its ugly head, ring out its voice, and screech at the top of its lungs at the occurrence of one of my mistakes.

I dug in and prepared for the dreaded fate that was to befall me. Before I knew it, the somewhat water-logged ball was headed my way. I panicked! “What do I do?” I naturally moved into position to catch the ball, but the mechanics of this art – first step backward, two hands on the glove, glove above your head, eye on the ball – were so easy to mess up, making the possibility of a mistake all-the-more evident. I fretted internally, as my nervous twitching continued, and sunk in for my encounter with the competition – catching a fly-ball. My worst nightmare began to come true as the ball invaded the boundaries of my glove and came popping back out ever so quickly. It moved in a slow, upward motion, as I juggled it with a combined effort between my hands and my glove. Then gravity altered the path of its course and it came back down in a southward motion along my body. I blew the opportunity to stop it as it past my eyes, then chest, then stomach, then belt, continuing on its destined course, downward and downward, further and further. All of a sudden, my heart sank, momentarily paralyzing my movements. For all I knew, I had lost the battle as I watched the ball rush down below my grasp. The ball seemed to race down past my hips, continuously picking up speed and never again to be seen, as if gravity was now the enemy. As a last gasp, natural-reaction, without even thinking about it, my knees swung shut! Low and behold my knees were NOT empty – I felt an object lodged between them. “UHHH!!! NO WAY!,” I thought, as I glanced down. To my surprise, wedged between my knees was a baseball – the baseball that had nearly destroyed my self-esteem!

I quickly grabbed it from my knees and hurled it to the second baseman, who came over from his fielding position toward me in leftfield to catch it. My teammates were frantic, screaming that the base runner had left early and forgotten to tag up. He was stuck between the bases with no way or time to get back to second base. I had plenty of time to make the throw that would end the game, but with the adrenaline rush that flowed from my brain throughout my limbs I wasted no time, firing the ball over to second base as soon as my brain would cooperate. The baseball made its way there and the second baseman grabbed it, ran over to second base, and tagged the bag. THE GAME WAS OVER! I joyously dashed in from the outfield, throwing my glove into the air, as was the custom to do when you were the champion. For once in my life I felt the unbelievable, questioningly, excited feeling of being a champion!

Then came the dreaded moment which sucked the life out of me – the base runner was not called out! Apparently he had done a sufficient job of tagging up, because he left while I was juggling the ball, and that was acceptable. Disappointed, I trotted back to the outfield. Our opponents were now one run closer than before, but fortunately for us, we still had the lead and there were two outs. This event only prolonged our destiny to become champions. Soon afterwards, the infield made a play that actually ended the game. We went on to win the Rochester Hills Little League (Major League Division) Championship. This memory has been a moment of pride, joy, and humor for me throughout the years. It will live on in my mind as long as my brain functions.

My recollection fades after this, but I do remember the awards ceremony and parts of my coach’s speech. With question and disbelief in his mind, a relieved smile on his face, and laughter in his voice, he said, “And Tim, wow, I’ve never seen any thing like that before.” I remember my dad chipping in with, “He saved the game for the team!” I was uncomfortable and did not know what to feel. I was excited that I made the play, yet embarrassed that I did it in such an unfashionably, clumsy way.

Today I may be a better ball player than I was, but this event accurately resembles the same approach I take to every game. After each game I am confident in my abilities, but during each game I play with the jitters, fearing that I will make a mistake. This is a tough circumstance to deal with, but I don’t let it get in the way of doing something I love and it won’t keep me from playing baseball. Instead, I try to let the jitters out before each game by making efforts to relax. Therefore, I take a very loose approach to practice, trying to reach the opposite end of the spectrum, but I have not been entirely successful in that effort yet. This may not be the best method, but it is my approach.

Looking back, I am convinced that a Little League Champion may find more joy in winning a championship than a World Series Champion because of the care-free attitude and wonder of that age. When a child grows up he gains a sense of sophistication and he looses (or diminishes) his ability to freely express his true feelings. We had essentially only beaten out about 10 other teams, compared to the 30 in Major League Baseball. In essence, we had only done so in the matter of 14 games where as Major League Baseball plays 162 games. Realistically speaking, we had only done so at a level that all of us could play in, compared to the League that none of us were likely to ever play in. But we didn’t know that, and if we did we didn’t care. Major League Baseball had the prestige, but we had the free-spirited nature. We were exuberant, and that was that.


Copyright 2007 by Timothy C. Devaney