Ethan finds himself hitting home runs on and off the field
There were two months left until graduation and that was still too much time. Senior year of high school was a reality check for me. I had made the varsity baseball team my freshman year, but I never grew to meet my coaches, or my own, expectations. I would see senior after senior be recruited by big colleges and given scholarships. Michigan State, Virginia Tech, Auburn, even Stanford. Given my early head start I assumed this would be me.
But it never happened. My batting average barely increased and neither did my work with the glove. And last year I had reoccurring injuries with my ankle. Every other week, it felt like, it was sprained again. It hurt my swing so much that I was a relegated to being a backup. If anything, I made negative progress between freshman and senior year.
It was tough because baseball was always the one thing I had to rely on. I wasn't great in classes, even when I forced myself to focus. I was tall, with a big frame and big shoulder muscles. Perhaps that's why my coaches were so optimistic.
Despite my stature I couldn't handle myself around girls and had never had a girlfriend. There was one girl, Rita, that I had worked up the courage to ask to Junior Prom. I had been crushing on her for the longest time. My friends kept telling me I had to ask her. I was close with her, but I told my friends she was out of my league. Blonde, huge breasts that she showed off with tank tops, and a tight waist. I remember pulling her aside, and chatting her up for a few minutes before dropping the question.
"I was thinking about the prom coming up and was wondering if you would want to go with me?"
Even as clumsy as that wording sounds on paper, I can assure you it was worse in person.
As soon as I asked, her eyes lit up in surprise. Not the type of 'I'm so happy and I can't believe this is happening surprise' but more the 'What the hell do you think you're doing asking me?' face.
"Umm, I already have a date. Kevin and I are going together."
Senior year became extra stressful because my parents were not rich and I knew if I wanted to pay for college I was going to have to handle the bill myself. When winter of Senior year rolled around I started working at a local diner on the weekends as a busboy. Chances are I would only be accepted into a community college, or maybe a second-tier state school if I was lucky, and with debt still on my car I needed some cash to prepare myself.
It was a Friday afternoon and a game against our rival, Central High School. When I came into the locker room after school I strolled by the lineup sheet. I looked it over, trying to be as casual as possible. I was not starting. Again. I figured this would be the case today, though every once in a while Coach Walsh would change things up if he thought someone was busting ass in practice and deserved another shot.
That day in the dugout I sat in the corner keeping to myself mostly, eating sunflower seeds and drinking water. The rest of the team was much more animated, throwing insults at each other and coming up with crazy handshakes to do out on the field whenever someone scored. That was me last year. By now, I was jaded with my own success and our team's record was worse as well. If we didn't win almost all of our last six games of the season there was little chance we would even make the playoffs.
"Ethan. Ethan! You hear me?" I heard my coach yelling at me just a few feet from my face. I had zoned out. "Get with it Ethan, I'm putting you into pinch-hit. Sam's got a hurt pinky."
I grabbed my helmet and bat and rushed out of the dugout onto the field. We were down by two runs in the bottom of the seventh with one out. In high school, the seventh inning is the last inning so this was our last chance to tie the game or take the lead. The pitcher threw a fastball, wildly, and my teammate walked and forced the runner on first to second.
Thirty seconds ago I was paying so little attention I did not even know it was the last inning or we were losing. Now, I was at the plate with a chance to win the game for us. Of course, given my recent slump, I was more likely to ground into a double-play ending the game, and perhaps the season, for us.
The pitcher was a lefty which makes the ball harder to track if you're a righty like myself. He lifted his knee and threw the ball down the middle of the plate.
SMACK
The second I felt my bat hit the ball I knew it. The ball shot up, towards right field and their fielder started backpedaling rapidly. But it would not matter how far he backpedaled, that ball was going to leave the park. It was my first home run in almost a year.
I started running the bases as fast as possible and I saw out of the corner of my eye my teammates leaving the dugout. As I rounded home, not only were my teammates and coach there, but fifty or so people in the crowd started flooding the field as well. There was no security at these sparsely attended games so celebrations like this could happen whenever, but this was as excited as I had ever seen a mob at home plate. I slowed down as I was just teen feet away and made exaggerated steps until I landed with both feet at once at home.
I felt a hand reach out and slap my shoulders and helmet before I was lifted up in a mosh-pit. This was my first time being lifted by a group of teammates, and by their expertise it was the first time lifting someone else as well. I lost control, and felt the hands below push with different strengths and soon I was rolling on a sea of hands. I tumbled and then...
CRACK
I fell through the crowd landing on my right ankle. It had been sprained much of last year and I knew the second it touched the ground it was sprained again. I winced in pain. The crowd parted and I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Ethan, how is it the ankle?" Coach Walsh asked.
"Yeah. Fuck. It's sprained again," I said. I put my hands down trying to raise myself to my own feet. I wanted to hobble off the field as fast as possible while I was still a bit of a hero and not a cripple.
"Hold up Ethan. You, help him balance," Coach said pointing to the closest girl near me who had watched me fall. I pushed off the ground as Coach pulled me up and I steadied myself on her shoulder. With them guiding me, I bounced on my one good foot towards the dugout making my way to the bench to a series of cheers from everyone on the field.
"Let's get you bandaged up. Thanks for the hand," Coach said.
"Oh no problem," the girl said. She was petite. It was comical that of all the people at the field, including my fellow players, Coach had ended up asking the smallest girl to help support me. She had very light brown hair that went down to her shoulders and hazel eyes. She must have been 5'3 at the tallest. She was wearing a tight shirt that although showed no skin, displayed her perky breasts well. She was probably a B or maybe even a C, which looked huge on her small body. Her skirt went down to just above her knees, showing off her smooth legs. "Great hit out there Ethan! That was awesome."
She knew my name. How did she know my name? Maybe she just looked at the scorecard or heard it in the celebration.
"Thanks... I don't know if we've met," I stuck out my hand, but grimaced as I felt the pain shoot through me again. Coach Walsh had begun looking at my ankle by rolling up my baseball pants. Even the slight touch hurt.
"I'm Lily. I'll leave you to get your ankle fixed up," she said as she turned around. As she headed out I watched her butt bounce on every step up the dugout stairs.
After a half hour of wrapping up my ankle, my coach congratulated me again on the walk-off hit and let me go. I could still drive, and the pain had gone down. It hurt if I made any sudden movements with it but otherwise was fine.
The sprained ankle meant that my season may be over, and that the last few weeks of high school would be painful for another reason. But the walk-off hit was not a bad note to end on, and by the way Lily looked at me after, I had a feeling thinks would be looking up soon.
***
