We'll Take the Hit

Softball season has come to an end, and guess who showed?  You got it!  DiMaggio, you were heaven sent!  Second to last game of the season, the deciding game to send us to the Tournament of Champions championship, Logan's first at bat, already 2 outs on the board...

"Why is she so early in the batting order?" I hiss to Thomas.

"I don't think she is."

"Then how is she up already?"  I absolutely can not take the pressure, because here's what flashes in my mind:  Her face after the game when she made the last out.  She was barely holding it together when I met her behind the dugout.  "Hey," I soothed.  "You did great!"

"But..." she whispered, nearly choking on it, "I made the last out.  It's all my fault."

I can't take that again.  Can not.  "Dear Lord, pleeeease, just one tiny--"

"Strike!"

"--teeny, tiny, hit."

"Ball!"

"--or walk.  I'd totally take a walk."

"Strike!"

"--Oh, c'mon!  You can do it, Logan.  Just take the good ones!"

"Ball!"

My heart is pounding.  "Please, please--

"Strike!"

Nuts.  I turn to Thomas and wheeze, "This girl is gonna' break my heart."  We couldn't have asked any more of her.  She was the tryingest player on the team.  Always giving it her best effort; always enthusiastic; just happy to be playing the game.  I can't help but want to see that kind of effort pay off for anybody, but especially when it's my heart walking out there outside of my body.  I see her shoulders slump as she walks back to the dugout.  "Hey!  Hold your head up.  You did great, Logan!"  There is little else I can do.  That is the hardest part of all.

Then, guess what?  Her next at bat?  Two outs already on the board.  "Again?" I whine.  "How does this always happen?" Mr. Wicke merely shrugs and shakes his head.  I think his heart is beating just as wildly as mine.  We're one strike and one ball in when it happens.

Crack!  The sound propels me to my feet.  A solid hit toward third.  The runner advances to second and Logan is safe at first.  "She did it!" I yell to no one in particular.  "She did it!  Way to go, Logan!"  The next batter hits her home, and she crosses the plate with a smile from ear to ear!  Mine and hers, a matching set. 

I meet her at the dugout.  "Way to go, babe!  You did awesome!  I'm so proud of you," I discreetly whisper to her as she takes a seat.

"Thank, Mom," she beams at me through the wire fencing.  There will be no close-to-tears tonight.

Except for me.  I have to take a little walk before finding my seat again to take a couple of deep breaths, swallow down that lump in my throat, and talk to God for just a second.  Maybe He'll pass along my regards to DiMaggio.

p.s.  She got one more hit that game and another in the championship game.  A great finish to her season!