Choices

I knew the pain would go away quickly. It always did. The coaches and my parents always told me if something hurt to tell them what hurt and to stop what I was doing. But I couldn’t do that; I couldn’t let my team down. Little did I know that trying not to hurt them would lead me to hurt them more.

It was the bottom of the fourth on a warm, Sunday afternoon. I felt good; my arm was loose, the ball felt light, and I could feel the whip as it came out of my hand. After four innings I had thrown a no-hitter, embarrassing kids a few years older than myself with a mixture of wicked fastballs and sharp curves. I could make the ball do whatever I wanted and go wherever I needed. My elbow hurt, but that happened and would go away soon, besides, I was throwing a no-hitter.

My elbow continued to hurt when I came up in the top of the fifth inning. I knew something was wrong when it hurt to swing. That had never happened before. I hit a double in the right center gap, stole third then stole home on a passed ball. I sat in the dugout after getting a bottle of water. I lifted the bottle up to my mouth and started to drink it but couldn’t. My arm was shaking so bad from the pain, I missed my mouth and spilled water down the front of my jersey. The catcher, Mertz, cracked up laughing next to me. I smiled, acting like it was an accident. Our team got three outs and we took the field.

After my last warm-up pitch I should have pulled myself from the game but I was much too stubborn. There were only two innings left in the game and I couldn’t let my team down. I lobbed the rest of my warm-up pitches to the catcher and prepared myself for the first batter.

I threw four straight balls to the first batter. My first walk of the game. Their coach started yelling from the dugout. He said I was tired and told the batter to take until I threw a strike. This is not something you are suppose to yell and is considered extremely disrespectful. I threw the ball as hard as I could and hit the kid square in the face. The kid had been punished for his coach’s unsportsmanlike conduct. The poor kid dropped to the ground like a rock. Their coach ran to the batters box to check on the kid. When the coach kneeled down next to the player he turned and looked at me. I smiled back, letting him know I had hit the player intentionally. The kid was helped off the field and a pinch runner was sent to first.  The coach was silent the rest of the game and the opposing batters were a little farther away from the plate.