Page 102 of Double Play

The good news is that the end is almost here. Her final game is tonight in Miami. Their championship series is tied. It’s a winner-take-all game for them.

We’re in the World Series, but it’s currently tied at two games apiece in the best-of-seven series. Our home game tonight is a pivotal one. The winner will only need one more game to take home the prize.

I know it’s because of the desire to have maximum evening television viewership, but I hate that the Anacondas play at the same time as us. They keep updating their score on one of our scoreboards, but Iwish I could at least watch their game considering I can’t be there in person.

Despite concentrating on our own game, we’re all monitoring the score closely. So many of the Cougars are now Anacondas fans. We see on the scoreboard that they’re up by one run going into the bottom of the last inning.

At some point in the fifth inning of our game, while we’re on defense, the broadcaster announces over the speakers in the stadium that the Anacondas only need one more out before the championship is theirs. They momentarily stop our game and play theirs on all our screens. All eyes in the stadium are on them.

Ripley is on the mound and the batter steps into the box. The first pitch comes in hard. The batter doesn’t swing and Arizona frames it perfectly on the low, outside corner of the plate. It’s a called strike and the crowd in our stadium starts cheering. I look around and smile, loving how vested our fans are in the Anacondas. I can’t help but feel proud that I was able to contribute in some small part. I know it was all the girls and how they play, but I also know I helped a bit in getting people to come to see them play and fall for the sport and the players the way I have. Well, maybe not exactly like I have.

The second pitch of the at-bat is thrown. The batter, again, doesn’t swing. It’s a bit high and called a ball. Our crowd collectively boos.

The third pitch is high again, but the batter swings through it for strike two. One more strike and they win the championship. Our fans are standing, clapping in anticipation of the championship we can all almost taste.

The next pitch is thrown and the batter swings, making minimal contact. It’s a little squib ball rollingtoward Ripley. Shit. Ripley is slow as hell. She’s never going to be able to make the play in time. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, Arizona pounces like an actual cheetah, scoops up the ball, turns her body, and fires a bullet to first base in the nick of time for the final out.

As soon as the ump gives the official signal of the out, our crowd goes wild. Arizona jumps into Ripley’s waiting arms before the whole team piles on top of them in celebration. Without realizing it, I’ve got my hands in the air, jumping up and down. I look over at Quincy and he’s doing the same, smiling at me.

I wish more than anything that I was at their game. I’m so happy they let us watch it live. I can’t wait to talk to my girl and congratulate her. I’ve got tears in my eyes watching their celebration play out. The joy on their faces is everything.

They allow us a few more minutes to watch the girls enjoy the victory before they resume our game. I’m doing my best to stay focused on the task at hand.

An hour later, we’re tied at the top of the last inning. We’re in the field and they have a runner on second base with two outs. The pitch comes in and the batter hits a hard ground ball single up the middle.

Shit. The runner from second base will try to score. He’s already rounding third base, barreling toward home. Cheetah got a good jump on the ball in center field. He charges it hard and comes up firing. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the baserunner heading for me just as the ball comes in. He’s sliding headfirst. I catch the ball and try to get my leg around but can’t get it there in time. Though I get my glove down just before he reaches me and tag him just a hair ahead of his hand reaching the bag.

I hear a crunch as we collide and go down hard. I’m on my back on the ground but hold the ball up in the air so the ump knows I didn’t drop it. He calls the runner out.

Yes! Now we can try to win the game in the bottom of the ninth inning.

It’s so quiet in here. Why aren’t the fans cheering like crazy? That was an awesome play.

I start to sit up, but the ump places his hand on my shoulder and gently pushes me back down. “Wait for the trainers, son.”

“Why? I’m fine.”

His face is solemn as he motions his head toward my leg. I just then look down and realize it’s in a very unnatural position. I know immediately that it’s broken.

The next ten minutes are fuzzy. The pain starts to settle in. It’s unlike any injury I’ve ever experienced. I’ve suffered minor muscle pulls and tears, but nothing along these lines. The faces of the trainers are somber, but it’s like being underwater. I hear people talking, but it’s muffled, and I don’t know what they’re saying.

I’m eventually put on a stretcher. I look around and see Carter Daulton with a strained look on his face, standing behind the medical staff in his business suit. I make eye contact with him and shout, “DoNOTtell her. Let her celebrate their victory. Let her have her moment.” I feel tears streaming down my cheek, not in pain, but at the thought of this ruining Arizona’s moment. “I’m not fucking with you. Don’t tell her tonight. Please.”

With an expressionless face, he nods as I’m carried away and straight into an ambulance.

ARIZONA

The champagne celebration in the locker room has been the absolute best moment of my entire softball career. We all put on goggles to protect our eyes, sprayed each other with champagne, and danced like crazy for over an hour. The music was blaring, and the smiles were everywhere.

Winning the league with my best friends is everything. I wish it was a home game and we were in Philly celebrating with all our fans, and Ireallywish Layton and my brother were here, but I’ll take it. Hopefully they can be at the celebratory parade planned for later this week. Life is good. It’s great.

We’re not flying home until tomorrow. After we get cleaned up, we’re planning to party hard in Miami tonight. The South Beach nightlife is fun, and we intend to take full advantage of it. I can’t wait.

I’m getting out of the shower when Reagan Daulton appears in the locker room. Her face doesn’t look like she owns a team who just won the league. It looks the opposite, like we lost.

She motions her head for me to step into a private alcove area of the locker room. I tighten my towel under my armpits and follow her as uneasiness settles in. “What’s up?”

“First of all, I’m so proud of you. You’ve done exactly what I brought you here to do. Our team is a success, the league’s numbers are up, and we’re already set to stay in business for another year. Make no mistake, you’re a huge part of that, Arizona, and I appreciate you.”

---