Strike Three

That quote has been floating in my mind for the past few days. As I sit back and watch Woman’s College World Series, I finally admitted that I missed an opportunity to play varsity for my high school softball team. At the age of fifteen was my last time swinging a bat and throwing a softball. I was a late bloomer when I started playing. Many young girls start at tee-ball and slowly climb the softball ladder until high school and college. I started the game at nine years old, and from that point on, softball consumed me; not all athletes are born to have natural-born talent. I can say with a straight face that I did have natural abilities. I was fast, had an arm, and had power when I swung the bat.

During my tenth grade year was when I decided to take my talents to softball tryouts. The softball field was open two weeks before tryouts even began. If you aren’t participating in any travel ball teams, then the two weeks would be beneficial to brush up on some of your skills. I told my mom about the tryouts and the practices that they would be holding. My mom asked, “Are you going to those practices?” I firmly said, “No, I don’t need to practice” she looked at me and said, “ok.” I treated this experience like the recreational league I joined. In the first week of practice, I’ll get long-winded and be out of shape, and after that, my muscle memory got me back in the swing of things. I play like I never left. During that time, I didn’t see the situation as being competitive. All of the praise, awards, and championship wins I’ve earned during my recreational softball days was enough to prove that I’m a good player, so I thought.

Finally, the time has come where I pull out my dusty cleats and glove to show these coaches that I’m the best player on the field. Nerves mixed with being out of shape captured one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life. I couldn’t catch, run or throw as I know-how. Drills I usually excel in I failed. My lack of stretching caused me to pull something in my arm. I put the capital H in Hot Mess. I wanted to quit after the first hour. The only way I could redeem myself was by swinging the bat as I know-how. I wasn’t the fourth batter for nothing. I earned the nickname clean-up hitter; there is a 99.9% chance to get on base after two outs with runners on the corners (players on first base…

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