Moments of Glory

Here's a short story for you.  Tuesday night, I played in a recreational, slow-pitch (that's important in light of the "punch line") softball game.  The game was for first place in the league going into the post-season tournament.  My team lost.  The other team's very good.  No big deal.  "What is a big deal?" you ask.  I'll tell you.  I stepped up to the plate, bottom of the ninth (sixth, actually.  we play with a time limit), with a chance to start a rally.  The rally wouldn't have done anything because we were down by like 9 runs, but just the same, runners on base, little kid's dream, lots of people watching because the next game was about to start and all their players were there.  Took the first pitch - called strike.  Swung at the second - swing and a miss.  A big swing, too.  All sorts of breeze jokes and batting tips from my team.  Third pitch, lofted from the mound, looking good, coming right down the middle.  This is my pitch.  This is my moment of glory.  After all, I had hit a stand-up double deep into center during my last at-bat.  Time to take it to the next step.  I reared back.  I swung with all my might (and that's practically saying something!) and I missed again.  It seemed as though 4 or 5 minutes passed as I stood there, embarrassed, before the umpire finally said (just barely over what I imagined was a roar of laughter from the onlookers), "Strike three.  Ball game!"
 
We weren't going to win and other players inexplicably struck out and made a variety of other blunders over the course of the game.  Mine, somehow, seems to have erased them all.  It's not important, of course, and I can laugh and just enjoy the game, but for the love of God, that better never happen again. 
 
I have another game tonight and I'm not gonna lie to you.  I'm a little scared.