Chapter 2

There's nothing better than your first day of work.

2

 

 

 

“Nothing is impossible, the word itself says 'I'm possible'!”
                    - Audrey Hepburn

 

 

 

 

 

 

I arrived to practice the next afternoon, yet for some reason the park was empty. I wondered where everyone was. I studied the time schedule once more. “Ohh…practice isn’t at 1:30 PM it’s at 2:45. Why did I write 1:30 PM in my planner? Oh well,” I said to myself.

I heard the smack of a bat in the distance then went to investigate. It was Buster hitting baseballs against the pitching machine. I slowly made my way over to him; he still had not yet noticed me.

“Hi,” I greeted cheerfully.

He jumped, and then started to chuckle. “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I stated honestly.

“It’s all right. What are you doing here?” he asked. “Practice doesn’t start for another hour.”

“I was just about to ask you the same question.”

“I was just putting in a few swings before practice, that’s all,” he said. “What about you?”

“I accidentally wrote down the wrong time,” I admitted.

“How did you get 1:30 PM mixed up with 2:45 PM?” he asked.

I shrugged, “I don’t know…But it looks like I’m not the only one,” I said while watching Timmy stroll into the dugout. “Hey Timmy, over here!” I yelled while motioning him in our direction.

He jogged over to us. “Hey what’s up,” he said.

“Let’s see, we have two pitchers and a catcher…Do you guys want to do batting practice?  It’s better practice than hitting against the machine. The first pitcher to strike each other out gets to pitch to Buster,” I said.

“Sure sounds great,” said Buster.

“I get to pitch first,” said Timmy eagerly.

“Well I guess I’m batting first,” I figured. “Come on Timmy, throw me your best pitch,” I said while batting. “That was your best pitch? That was straight in the dirt,” I mocked. “Throw me a fastball and watch me hit it,” I trash talked.

The wind up and the pitch.

“Strike!” yelled Buster.

That ball had so much movement on it that I didn’t know whether it was a strike or whether it was going to hit me. Apparently it was a strike, according to Buster.

“Okay, well I let you have that one,” I said in denial. “Next pitch is going over your head,” I said confidently.

The wind up and the throw. I swung and missed by an inch. Honestly, I think my eyes were closed when I swung.

Timmy snickered under his breath, taunting me.

“Third time’s the charm,” I said slightly less assured.

The pitch… Smack! Went the bat as I sent the ball soaring into the outfield. We all stood and watched as the ball only just missed becoming a home run and hit the leftfield wall.

“So close!” I yelled in agony

“Ha ha my turn,” said Timmy. Timmy was actually astonished about how close that ball was to a homer, it’s hard enough for a man to hit a home run in AT&T Park, let alone a girl.

“It almost went over, just watch I’m gonna strike you out.”

“We’ll see,” he said unconvinced.

The wind up and the throw. Timmy swung a missed by a mile.

“What? Is my fastball too fast for you?”

“No, I just wasn’t ready,” he said in denial.

I decided to throw an off-speed pitch. Swing and a miss.

“ Tricked you!” I teased.

“Don’t get so cocky, fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice, shame on you.”

We’ll see about that. I threw an off-speed pitch once again. This time he swung the bat so early and off balanced that if you were watching from a side angle his swing would’ve look utterly ridiculous.

“You were expecting another fastball weren’t you?”

He angrily mumbled something under his breath as he put on the catchers gear.

“Okay Buster, you're up, do you think you can get a hit off me?”

Buster stepped up to the plate, shining with confidence. “I believe so,” he said.

“So you’re saying that you can hit this ball out of the park?”

“Yes I am saying that I can hit that ball out of the park,” he declared.

 I don’t think so, I thought until, on the first pitch he smacked a ball right over the centerfield wall.

 “You got lucky,” I said.

At that moment the coach as well as a few of our teammates arrived.

Coach strolled over to us. “I see you're using your time wisely,” he smiled. “Include the other guys, until the rest of the boys arrive, will you?” he ordered politely.

“Will do,” Buster answered.

That we did, until we realized everyone had already arrived, a little late.

Our teammates were already huddled around home plate. Buster, Timmy and I trotted in only hearing the end of a sentence, “…heated Dodgers�"”

He glanced up at us, and then continued, “As I was saying, we need to win this game tonight against the hated Dodgers. Do we have to? No, but don’t you think it would be nice to win our first game against our rivals to start off the season? That is exactly why I am starting the game with my ace pitcher�"Timmy. Genny take notes you might be pitching tomorrow. Is there anything anyone wants to add in before the game?”

I raised my hand, but then I realized that I wasn’t in a classroom and blurted out: “Yeah, I’d like to say something. No one, I mean no one gets to slap my butt during the game,” I empathized.

Some of my teammates chuckled.

“I’m serious!” I snapped.

That sent them all into a roar of laughter.

“Okay settle down, settle down everyone. Now let’s get practice started before 7 o’ clock sneaks up on us,” said Coach.

 

*                              *                              *

 

The game started off magnificent…until the sixth inning ended with the score tied five to five. The Dodgers scored each and every one of their runs in the sixth inning. It was a hot day�"eighty degrees which was hot considering that we were playing in San Francisco next to the bay. Although I was observing the entire game from the bench and not playing I still became very parched. I made my way to the Gatorade dispenser, passing through the dugout which had just become crowded when the players that were on the field returned back after the last out.

Ping! Went a bat in the distance.

“Heads up!” shouted numerous players in the dugout.

That was when I had finally looked up. A foul ball was heading directly for my head. It was already too late for me to dodge the incoming ball for it was inches from my head. I shut my eyes tight and shielded my head with my arms on impulse. After a moment I still had not felt the impact of the foul ball. Slowly I opened my eyes and returned my arms to my sides. I looked up and saw a baseball glove positioned directly above me. It was Buster’s glove; he had caught the foul ball that was in route for my head.

“My hero! Thank you so much Buster!” I shrieked. “You saved my life!” I said over exaggerating the situation a bit.

I gave him a kiss of gratitude on the cheek, his face turned fire truck red as a result.

“You’re welcome,” he said bashfully, as I returned to the task of acquiring a drink.

It was now the ninth inning with the game still tied up, with little of my teammates making it on base hope was slowly fading away. There were no outs and the bases were loaded. The relief pitcher was struggling to execute; there were no bullpen pitchers left to pitch and the closer was ineligible to pitch because of an injury. He had torn a muscle in his bicep.

“Ugh! We cannot lose this game. Wallach will mock me ‘til next season if we don’t win this game,” Coach assumed to himself. “I have to get him out of there before someone scores and breaks up the tie. Okay its one out now. But who could I put in? My bullpen is completely empty.”

An idea popped into his head; he turned and looked at me. “That’s it; I’m making the switch, Lopez you’re out Henry you’re in.”

He trotted to the umpire and made the switch.

“Time to shine,” he whispered to me before I trotted out to the mound.

Bochy made the choice to bring in the rookie pitcher,” said the announcer.

“This is it; this is what you’ve been waiting for, your debut game. Don’t let your nerves get the best of you now. It’s time to show ‘em what you can do,” I whispered to myself.

The first pitch…strike, the second…ball as well as the third and fourth pitch. The wind up and the pitch…a swing and a miss. Okay Genny you have to get this last strike.

“The count is now full,” announced the broadcaster.

I pitched a slider.

Crack! Went the bat as it popped up the ball towards the outfield. The outfielder caught it effortlessly but the runner at third had tagged and sprinted to home plate.

“The long throw to the plate from Schierholtz’s great arm…a short hopper straight to Buster, the tag, and they got him at home! What a spectacular double play to end the inning,” said the announcer. “It is the bottom of the ninth, the Giants need one more run to wrap up this game; will they pull it off this inning or will this game go extra innings?”

The bottom of the ninth inning started with the bottom of the batting lineup. I am first up to bat and then it rotates back to the top of the order. I had always had the fear of batting first up, ever since I was young. I was going up against a left-handed pitcher and my tension showed for my knees were shaking rapidly. On the first pitch I swung and missed. I had forgotten that you should never swing on the first ball the pitcher throws; I was greatly anxious. I swung on the following pitch; the ball was up to my elbows; however, I had already gone for it and it was too late for me to halt my swing. Miraculously my bat had made contact with the baseball.

“That ball is roped towards the third baseline; fair or foul? That ball is fair and now heading into the corner of left field. Henry is now rounding first base and trying for second. The slide…and she’s is easily safe with the ball trailing far behind her,” said the broadcaster. “Angel Torres, the lead-off hitter, is now stepping up to the plate. The first pitch…and he chops the ball and sends it straight into the air over home plate. The catcher is under it… and now there is one out. That is why you should never swing on the first pitch folks. And now second baseman Freddy Sanchez is up. First pitch…ball, outside, the second pitch…strike. The count is 1-1. The wind up and the pitch…that ball is lined straight to the second baseman and caught�"no wait it is dropped and Sanchez reaches on an error. Now there are runners on the corners and Pablo Sandoval is stepping up to the bag, Buster Posey is on deck. Strike one…swing and a miss strike two. Boy that was one nasty slider Sandoval chased outside the plate. He falls behind with two strikes. The 0-2 pitch…that ball is lined into the gap of second base and Henry comes in to score effortlessly and it is still only one out with Pablo on first with no trouble.”

When I returned to the dugout I was showered with praise.

“Nice hit,” congratulated Timmy while giving me a high five. As I passed by him to grab a drink he reached out to give me a slap on the bottom. I caught it on the side of my eye and smacked his hand way at the last second.

“Oh yeah…I forgot,” he stated dumbfounded.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Sure, you did,” I said, unconvinced.

“What? I did, honestly,” he said sincerely.

I was about to respond with a smart remark when I was interrupted by the sound of the bat. “Posey hits a bullet towards the hole in second base but Hudson makes a beautiful dive to stop it from flying into the outfield. This may be a double play, Hudson flips it to Furcal covering second, Posey isn’t much of a runner, the throw to first base is…in time and that ends the game. Giants win by one after a double by Henry and a nice hit by Sandoval to bring her home,” the announcer announced.

After the game the team strolled on to the field to do our traditional high fives. While proceeding down the line I received numerous complements about my pitching and about my hit. I responded to the recognition with gratitude and a reminder, “thank you, don’t slap my butt, thank you, don’t slap my butt.”

After that I was expecting someone to interview me about me pitching or at least my hit yet no one approached me. I was somewhat disappointed but it faded when I thought positively, I guess I’ll show them what more I can do tomorrow.

Author's Note

Open for opinions!