This is the third and last part of “PITCH HITTING,” a baseball story submitted to the Beanery Writers Group by Jim, a Southwestern Pennsylvania writer. Parts 1 and 2 are filed on this blog under the category BW VISITOR WRITINGS. So, the game starts with our team in the field, the opposing team at bat. I don't recollect anything memorable happening in that first half-inning. Our team eventually got the three necessary outs, and it was our turn to bat. As the other team took the field, I realized that I'd made a mistake. The pitcher that I feared was not on the mound. The team's other pitcher was there. He didn't throw the ball very hard, and he was right-handed. I suddenly began to feel a lot better. It was a miracle. After a couple innings Mr. Dillon asked me how I felt, and I said, "I think I'm feeling a little better." When it was our turn to bat again, the boy who had replaced me in left field was due up to bat, and Mr. Dillon had me pinch-hit for him. I put on a batting helmet, picked up one of the smaller bats and took a few practice swings. I looked out at the pitcher's mound and noticed that the other team had made a pitching change. Oh, my God! It was him! He was throwing warm up pitches. With each whiz-thunk, my illness returned. Now I really did feel sick. This time it was in my legs. My knees felt like jelly. When he finished warming up, I stepped into the batting cage and assumed my usual batting stance at the plate. Then, I turned to face my executioners. As the first pitch came, I forced myself not to lean back. The pitch was high, and Uncle Eddie yelled, "Ball one!" The next pitch was over the plate, and Uncle Eddie yelled, "Strike!" When the third pitch came across the plate, I swung, and a miracle happened. My swinging bat actually made contact with the ball. The ball flew off the bat and headed straight back toward the pitcher and Uncle Eddie. The pitcher stabbed at the ball with his glove and missed, and Uncle Eddie had to duck to get out of the way. The ball whizzed past them and flew over second base and into center field. As I ran to first base, I saw Mr. Dillon pointing toward second base, and he was yelling, "Go, go, go!" I rounded first and ended up at second base with a stand-up double, my first-ever extra base hit! I could see and hear my teammates and the spectators behind them cheering and clapping. I'd never made it to second base on my own before this, and it really felt great. The spell was broken. I was forced into a situation from which I couldn't escape. I had to face something that I greatly feared, and it turned out okay. Was it luck or did God smile upon this little boy? At my next at bat I got another hit. This time I hit the ball on the ground between first and second base and into right field. It got past the right fielder, and I ended up with my first-ever triple. I could see and hear the cheers again. Being at third base, I was close enough to see my sister, Elaine, standing at the fence behind my teammates, and I heard her yell, "Way to go, Jimmy! Yay!" Or something like that. A little while earlier, when I hit that double, and again when I hit the triple, I felt thrill to a degree that I'd never felt before. But when I saw Elaine cheering for me, I felt something even more unfamiliar, a different kind of feeling, a better kind of feeling. I'm sure that, at the time, I had no thoughts of trying to define my experience. I was just, as they say, enjoying the moment. Yet, as I look back, I do have a desire to define it, to name it. And still, I cannot. What was that feeling? Or, was it more than a feeling? Perhaps, I could just call it unspeakable joy, and let it go at that. But, if I do that, I have to put it in a mental category of things that are indefinable, one of life's mysteries. And when I do that, because of my particular faith, my particular way of trying to come to grips with what things mean, I have to ask, "Is it love? Is it God?" To me, these two words are synonymous. As I look back on my experiences at the ball game that day, I recall one other thing about that moment on third base. Up until that moment when I was standing on third base, and I saw and heard my sister, I didn't know that she was even at the game. So, in addition to the sudden change from being overwhelmed with feelings of fear and dread to the thrill of victory, there was also the element of surprise, a sort of added bonus. Is it possible that, in the simple act of a thirteen-year-old girl spontaneously cheering her little brother's good fortune, that God was somehow present? Could it be said that Elaine's response was an act of love, and that my experience of and appreciation of her action a completion of some kind of circuit between us? Could it be possible that this whole series of seemingly random events was actually God's subtle way of teaching me a lesson, a lesson that I finally learned now, forty-three years later? When I tried to avoid facing my fears of that pitcher and my uncle, did God play a trick on me by having the less intimidating pitcher start the game? And then I walked right into the trap. Except it wasn't really a trap. It was an opportunity. I was forced into a situation that I really didn't want to be in so that I could learn to be less afraid. Perhaps, after that second hit when I ended up on third base, maybe it was God saying to me, through my sister, "See, I told you it would be okay." If this was a lesson from God, I wonder why it took me so long to learn it. Or, maybe I did learn it, but just didn't realize that I had. For the rest of that baseball season, I did have much more confidence in myself. I was certainly less afraid of that particular pitcher. I swung at the ball more, and I got a few more hits. In fact, at times I got a little too cocky. I recall another game sometime later in the season. The score was close, and I was on deck. I was discussing strategy with my shortstop friend, the one who had yelled at me for not running after the fly ball. I told him I was going to punch the ball at a particular place to increase the likelihood that I would get on base. And my friend said, "Aw geez, just try to hit the ball will ya?" The lesson on fear has presented itself to me many times, even to this day. Sometimes it presents itself as fear, sometimes as anxiety or worry, and sometimes it comes as a difficult situation. Sometimes I heed the lesson and face the particular fear, anxiety or worry, and sometimes I avoid it. Sometimes I see only a problem, and sometimes I see an opportunity. The lesson on love and God also presents itself over and over. Sometimes it comes as a gift, a surprise like the one I got from my sister that sunny spring day. Sometimes it presents itself more cunningly, such as in the form of a person that I have difficulty getting along with. Sometimes I'm able to rise to the opportunity to learn and grow, and sometimes I miss it. I do know that many more opportunities to learn will keep coming my way. As they arrive I hope I will be able to put to use the words of the Dalai Lama: "Never give up," and of Jesus: "Therefore, I tell you, do not worry." May it be so. Return to the Beanery Writers Group blog tomorrow when Part 3 of the ten-part romance story, David, will be posted. To read the previous parts click on the category Jane’s Writings and scroll down. |
