We got into the car, and I reflected on what I was about to undertake. We had lost the game the day before, and if we lost the one today, we would become second place in the league to the Braves. I was going to pitch at some point during the game. I felt like two hundred little butterflies were flapping around in my stomach, just trying to get out through my mouth. I knew that if I messed up and we lost, I would be to blame. I had to win.            

            We finally arrived at the field, and I jumped out of the car with my bag, and ran to my team’s dugout. My coach scolded me for being late, but I ignored him as I went into the field to have a catch with my friend. The game started, and everyone was excited. By the fifth inning, we were down by one run. We took the lead that inning, and the coach told me the words I had been waiting to hear all night. “Jonathan, go out and pitch.” I picked up my glove, and jogged out to the field. I got the first two batters out, but then things got complicated. I gave up a triple, and then two walks, to make the bases loaded. At this point I was in tears. This pressure was more then my ten-year-old brain could handle. My coach came out to the field, and I’ll never forget what he said to me.

            “Jonathan?”

            “Yes.”

            “Strike that bastard out.”

I bore down, and struck the batter out. My catcher threw off his mask and ran up and jumped on me. I felt more bodies piling on top of me; we had won! I felt happier then I had ever felt before. Not only had I saved the team to fight for another day, but also I had proved to myself that I could accomplish anything if I tried.