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Surprisingly, they don’t take the pitcher out.
They should have.
Joel hits a line drive but the shortstop fields it quickly, meaning Davey scores but Nick and Joel each only take one base.
Nick on third. Joel on first. Aaron’s up.
And now the other team is switching pitchers.
There’s sort of a stereotype that pitchers can’t hit, but that’s some real bullshit in my experience. Aaron’s probably one of the top five for the team and is known for hitting deep into the outfield.
After the new pitcher is ready to go, Aaron steps to the plate.
Aaron looks for me, meets my eyes, gives me a smirk.
Then, as he looks like he wants to wallop the ball, he turns his bat and bunts it instead, surprising the whole infield, then hauls ass to first base.
Bases are loaded. Two outs.
One of the outfielders, known for being a home run hitter, steps up. But this new pitcher is on his game and strikes him out. I wish I could’ve seen the rest of the boys score, but at least we’re up four to two now.
All Aaron has to do is close out this inning and we win.
The first guy up is massive. He looks like he should be a football lineman. He smashes the ball on the first pitch, despite the fact that it was a little low. It seems he was gonna swing at anything. And it’s a home run.
Four to three.
Next hitter. A ground to the outfield, which is fielded quickly.
Man on first.
Next guy up.
Strike one. Strike two. Line drive between shortstop and second. Nick dives for it, grabs it, tosses it to Joel, to Davey! Double play!
I’m on the edge of my seat. Literally. My heart is pounding. I want this win for them so badly. I want this win for Aaron. For our whole town. I cross my fingers and keep hoping they can pull this off.
Two outs. One more and they win. But I can tell Aaron is pissed. He’s given up more hits this inning than the whole rest of the game.
First pitch. Strike. Second pitch. Foul. Third pitch. Ball. Aaron is mad as hell now. That’s only going to make him throw shittier.
I whistle at him. It’s a special whistle that we all use to find each other when we’re running around the neighborhood after dark. His eyes find mine.
Breathe,I mouth. Then I take an exaggerated breath in and out. I smile at him and mouth,you’ve got this.
I see his big shoulders relax.
Fourth pitch. Strike. Everyone is screaming.
“One more strike. Strike him out,”is being chanted across our side of the stadium.
Fifth pitch. Foul. But Aaron is calm this time.
Two outs. Two strikes. No problem. I can see the sign Miles gives him, and I know we’re going to win.
It’s their Hail Mary. One they rarely use because it’s tough to throw correctly and you can risk injuring your arm with it. But this is the last game of the season. If he nails it, it’s his last pitch for a while. Aaron doesn’t care. This is their chance.
A smirk climbs up his face. He knows he’s going to nail it. Since we were kids, Miles and Joelwould try to get Aaron to throw the best, most insane pitches he could.
