As I sprinted around the bases I kept my eyes transfixed on the tiny object. I rounded first base dashing to make it to second base. “It’s going, going, and it’s gone,” the announcer’s voice rang loud and clear in my ear. I feel as it was yesterday when I see that baseball sitting on my shelf. As small and meaningless that baseball would seem; however; in itself contains my memory of game that I love and a moment that I will always cherish.
I played for the Sullivan Central Cougars, at the second base position. Our coach entered our team into a tourney (short for tournament) called the Snowball Classic. It was held at Sullivan East High School. It was mid March, so the name well fitted itself, and the cold air had not yet lifted from our area. We arrived at the field suited up in our heavy-coated team jackets. We warmed up opposite of the ever so hated Dobyns Bennett Indians. This was not just any team, they are our rivals. You see we were the county boys and well, they were the city boys. Naturally the Indians looked down upon us, as if we were inferior. It also made for an interesting game since I had many friends on the on their squad, which fueled the fire even more for us to win.
The next two innings ended the same as the first but a spark came from our team. Our catcher smashed a two-run shot over the left field fence. This changed the score 2-0, our favor. Then DB earned their chance to swing the bats after obtaining three outs. Their first batter reached first base on a single up the middle and what happened next turned out to be the worst thing DB would do to us the entire game. The next batter smashed one into over the fence in right field to tie the game at two apiece. The score remained the same the fifth inning, tied 2-2; however; the next inning things started to heat up. It’s now the top of the sixth and Phillip, the catcher, walked on four straight balls to advance to first. We already comprised two of the three outs we our allowed for one inning. I stepped up to the plate and shifted the dirt around with my cleats. I took a couple of practice swings and glanced to get the signs from my coach. He gave me a green light to swing away at any ball the pitcher threw me. The pitcher began his wind-up and Phillip took off towards second base. I could tell as soon as the he released the baseball from his hand that it was a curveball; but he made one mistake that he w
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