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Swing and a Miss

A baseball story.

By Noah NelsonPublished about a year ago 5 min read
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Swing and a Miss
Photo by Lesly Juarez on Unsplash

My pants were not all the way pulled up when Colton Skinner hit the game-winning home run. As I pulled the zipper of my baseball pants up, I watched as my teammates hugged him with everything they could. We were Darby County Intercity League Champions. And I still was far from the field.

Ten minutes before duty called, I found myself at the plate in my fourth at-bat of the game. I sweated buckets, enough to fill all of the ones we kept our practice balls in.

I had batted against Mason Deal from the Perry Pirates hundreds of times. We played video games together whenever we could, but during games like these, we left our friendship at home. We meant business on the field.

Folks in town said Mason would find himself playing in the major leagues one of these days soon, even though we were ten years old and hadn’t grown our first armpit hair yet. In a small town, everyone began to fantasize about every great local athlete. And Mason was no exception.

He spent his Sundays with his father helping him perfect his pitching craft as if this was game seven of a World Series. In these parts, it pretty much was.

The practice paid off when the first fast ball flew at me out of nowhere. I didn’t even motion my body to swing before the umpire screamed “Strike one!”

The second pitch, a curve ball I had seen a million times before flew past me too, right over home plate. “Strike two.”

I didn’t sense fear in Mason’s eyes. He wasn’t doing this as a stab in the back of friendship. This game was one step closer to his big leagues career.

Our friendship would resume no matter what happened after the game.

As I prepared myself for the batting position, elbow back, feet steady enough length apart, I thought I was ready for a nice hit when the perfect pitch forced me to swing and miss. I caused the second out in the bottom of the last inning of our championship game.

Mason could strike out one more kid and they would win.

When Colton Skinner arrived at the plate, all of the Gatorade I had sucked down in the last three days caught up to me. Duty called and before I even asked our coach to use the bathroom, I ran out of the dugout to the nearest tree in Hudson Park. I checked to make sure the coast was clear before I unzipped and began to take care of business.

Just then, I heard the crowd roaring as the metal bat connected with Mason’s ball, causing it to fly through the air like a plane. As it landed behind the busted fence in center field, two of my teammates ran home with Colton right behind them.

We won the game 7-6.

And I was still behind the big tree.

I couldn’t tell you if anyone saw me pee in public. At this juncture, I didn’t care one bit. Our team won the game, but Mason’s little league career came to a halt.

As my team gathered around Colton, I found Mason along the third base line, his head down, his ratted glove under his right arm.

“Hey man,” I said. “You did great!”

“Thanks,” he muttered. He looked at our team jumping in the air holding the trophy made from the downtown shop. He turned back to me. “Shouldn’t you be over there celebrating with your team?”

I hesitated then said: “No. A friend in need is far greater than some little league championship.”

“Maybe this is your start to you playing in the majors one day,” Mason said. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“That’s never going to happen.”

Just then, Colton Skinner stood between us, removing his hat and wiping sweat from his long brown hair. “Hey guys,” he said. “Great game.”

“You too,” Mason said. “I’m glad you guys won. That was a great home run.”

“Because of your pitching,” Colton said. “If that pitch didn’t fly right down the middle, there’s no way I wouldn’t have swung at it. I saw the perfect shot and went for it.”

Mason smiled a little.

“I guess all those Sundays with your dad paid off, huh?”

“How did you know that?” Mason asked. He turned to me. “You know, Cruz, you have a big mouth, you know that?”

“A big mouth with awful batting skills,” I said. “But I can still kick your ass in Mario Kart. And Rummy.”

The three of us shared a laugh like never before.

My mom snapped a pic of us together: Colton and I in the same green and yellow uniform and Mason in his red and black.

***

Fifteen years later, I looked at that same picture on the wall beside me inside the press box. Mason Deal threw his last pitch during his first perfect game at Wrigley Field.

He’d been playing for the Cubs since sophomore year at college. And when I graduated, I found myself in the press box at every game watching him play while keeping stats.

As Mason and his team cheered on the mound with thousands of fans doing the same in the stands, Colton Skinner brought us two celebratory beers.

We twisted the caps and clinked bottles.

“The kid can pitch, can’t he?” Colton said. “It puts our Darby County Intercity League Championship win to shame.”

I paused a moment then said: “He finally got his day in the sunlight.”

Colton took a sip of beer and asked: “Hey, why didn’t you celebrate the win with us on the mound that night?”

I didn’t know what to do other than be honest. “I took a piss behind the big oak tree in the park. I missed the game winning hit.”

“Seriously?” He said. “You couldn’t hold it?”

“When duty calls.”

We shared a laugh, continuing to watch Mason and the Cubs cheer on the field.

“The same will probably happen again after a few more of these,” I said, looking at the Miller Light in my hand. “At least this time, the game is already over.”

Short Story
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About the Creator

Noah Nelson

I’m currently pursuing a Master of Science in Journalism at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. If I’m not reading or writing, I’m probably at a concert or playing acoustic guitar.

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