Narrative

Jordan Rugg

Mr. Dilbeck

English 1100

9-22-13

One Swing

            Before I was able to step in-between the lines, he called me over as he often did. I leaned in, already having a good idea of what would be said. “I am going to give you one swing, then bunt.” I was the number two hitter in the lineup, having one of my best years to date. I was batting .380 and backing it up with great defensive play. I was back to being a stand out player and it felt great. The newspaper article entitled: Versatile Rugg leading baseball team, was etched in my memory and gave me motivation every time I put a uniform on. My team was having a great year and had aspirations of going far in the tournament, but our offense had stalled in the district semis.

            It was the top of the sixth inning. The game was tied one to one and the batter before me, the best player in the district, had tripled to left. After watching my team struggle to hit in the previous 5 innings, I knew I was the one who had to get Clayton home. I was fast, the fastest player on the field. A bunt made sense. Chances are I would bunt for a hit, and Clayton who was only a step slower than me would be safe at home. If any other player on the team had come to the plate in my position, Kraynak would have given him the safety squeeze sign and we would have won the game two to one. But there was something that made him give me one swing to be the hero. I laughed to myself, “how mad would he be if I hit a liner to third and Clayton was doubled off?” I stopped. That did not matter; I already knew exactly what I was going to do.

             As I stepped into the batter’s box, a familiar quietness ensued. I had become def. None of the screams of: let’s go Rugg, or come on 24, made it to my ears. I knew it was being said, but I had preoccupied all of my five senses on the baseball in the opposing pitcher hand. The first pitch of the at-bat hissed by me; I heard the ump call from behind the plate, “Ball.” I smirked. I already knew the pitchers hands were beginning to sweat; his heart rate was increasing. The game was beginning to slip from his hands. I heard it again, “Ball.” The count was two balls, no strikes. I stepped out of the box, looked down at Clayton, and stepped back into the box. The running dialogue in my head was repeating: “Fastball down the middle. He has to through it.” I prepared myself to take my first swing of the at-bat, but again I heard the pitch hit the mitt followed by the umpires call, “Ball.” I was disappointed. My chance to be the hero was slipping away. I knew better than to swing at the next pitch, whether it was a strike or not. As the fourth pitch was racing towards me, I could see it was going to be a ball. I was about to take my base when I heard a different call than before. “Strike!” exclaimed the umpire. I could not believe it.

“That was high and inside.” I said disgustedly. As I reluctantly stepped back into the batter’s box, I could feel the anger begin to set in, but I put it behind me for the next pitch. A brief second of confusion hit me like a speeding car. “Did coach say one strike or one swing?” I questioned. “Definitely one swing.” I concluded as I set my focus back on the pitcher. The count was three and one. The whole ballpark knew a fastball was coming, and so did I. This time it was right down the middle. The first strike of the at-bat some would say. I let out a mechanically sound swing and crushed the ball with the sweet part of the bat. I can still remember how clean it felt. As I rounded first base, I looked to left-center where the ball was still being chased down and I decided to advance to second. As I stood safely on second base, my hearing returned to me. I could hear the crowd as well as my team going crazy. I looked at my coach and was greeted with a gratifying point back. As I turned around I heard the field umpire say, “nice hit 24.” I had done it. I was the hero. We went on to win the game. After Frank, our pitcher, and I did our post game interviews with the newspaper writers, and I had collected my game ball, we went as a team to greet our fan section. It was how they say a perfect day in baseball.