I Believe in Softball by Delaney Schultz

Put yourself in my shoes, its 105 degrees out, middle of summer, in Oklahoma City. The sun is beating down hot and steamy, not a cloud or tree in sight. I just finished pitching three games. It's my fourth game in a row. It s the bottom of the last inning. We are up one to nothing. They have girls on second and third with two outs. Their big stud pitcher, who is also their cleanup batter, comes up to bat. The previous two times at bat she struck out and got a double. I'm going through the pitches in my mind trying to decide what sequence to throw.

This is a sport that I truly believe in. I believe you get out of the sport what you put into it. It requires practice, practice, and more practice. Not only is softball an athletic sport, but a sport that involves a lot of mental thinking. If the ball comes to me, what do I do with it? Where are the runners? If I am on base, and it is a fly ball, do I go or tag up? Oh yeah, back to the game.

I'm only ten years old so I don't have a lot of choices. I throw a good fastball and a good change up, but I know that location is very important, so what do I do? I know I need to get a strike on her to get ahead in the count, so I decide to throw a fastball right down the middle. She gets a piece of it and it's a long, long fly ball down the third base line that just goes foul. Whoa, I was really nervous now. I backed off the rubber and collected my thoughts.

I stepped back up and threw an awesome change up. She swung so hard I swear I felt the breeze on the pitcher's mound from her swing. The umpire goes Strike two ! The next two pitches I tried to get her to chase the ball on the outside corner, but she didn't bite. The count was now two balls and two strikes. I knew that if the count went full that she would anticipate a fastball on the last pitch and probably win the game. So this is the pitch where I have to bear down and take control. What is she expecting me to throw?

I feel the adrenaline rushing through my body, the sweat dripping off my face. My arm, after pitching three previous games, is like rubber. The batter steps in and digs her cleats into the hot, dusty dirt. I step onto the pitching mound and take a deep breath. The catcher gave me a target slightly high. I am into my wind up; I am focused on the glove. The pitch headed straight toward the catcher's mitt. The batter swung with all her might and in the next instant the umpire goes Strike three! That s game!

How did I feel? So happy, but yet so drained. All of that hard work in the winter, all that hard work in the spring, had paid off. This is where I wanted to be. I wanted to be the one to take charge. Why? Because, I believe in softball.