It happened not too long ago. The last game of the season. We had to win the game to keep our playoff hopes alive. At the plate was a Monster, the guy was hitting .305 on the year with over 40 home runs. I was the pitcher, and I was having nothing short, but a stellar year on the mound. I had a 1.20 ERA with 15+ wins in 20 starts. Both that Monster and I were sure to be frontrunners for the MVP award. I knew I had to give him my best, and he had to give me his. I started him off with a 102 mph fastball, high and inside, just to get him on his toes. He smirked at me because he knew it was about to be a battle. Second pitch was a nice, lingering changeup in towards his knees that he swung right through. 1-1 count. I threw another steamer, this time for a strike. Got him swinging for the fences just to end up swinging out of his cleats. 1-2 count. I tried to get him to bite on a slider next, but he just spit on it as it passed by. 2-2 count. At this point he had me a bit nervous, so I got a little wild and whizzed the next pitch behind his head, advancing the tying run to third base. 3-2 count. It was the top of the ninth with two outs. The only thing stopping us from clinching the division title was this very moment. I had to relax. I threw him another fastball, right at his chest. He just got enough of it to hit it foul into the right field stands. I knew I had him on the ropes and it was time to end it. I got the sign from my catcher: curveball, down and away. I nodded. The crowd was completely silent. You could hear a pin drop in the stadium. I wound up, moved into my stride, and let the ball fly… but that’s when it happened. The pin drop was replaced with a loud pop that sounded almost like a gunshot. It rang throughout the stadium. I thought it was the sound of the ball being crushed off of the sweet spot of his bat and landing in the center field stands, or the roar of the jubilant crowd cheering in pure glee and excitement. That was until I looked down at my arm. It looked like it was practically hanging off of my body. I started biting my fingers to see if I could feel anything. I couldn’t. I ran into the dugout and immediately over to the trainer. He didn’t even need to thoroughly evaluate it before he issued his diagnosis. It was Tommy John. The absolute worst injury in baseball, maybe in all of sports. Oddly enough, the worst part about it wasn’t even that I would have to undergo potentially career-ending shoulder surgery. The worst part about that night, was that we had lost the game. 

It’s been a few months since that night. My surgery went according to plan and I have gained a lot of strength back in my arm. I have been working with the best orthopedic sports doctors and trainers in the country to rehabilitate, and it has been going more than well. I’m back to being able to put spin on the ball and am able to reach around 98 mph with my fastball. Today, I am going to the doctors’ office for what I hope will be the last time, and he will clear me to be able to pitch again. The team has been doing very well in my absence, but come late in the season, I know they will need me. I arrive at the doctors’ office and am estatic after hearing the news I have longed to hear for months now: “You are cleared”, he said. “Thank you doctor, for everything over these past few months. I’ve dreamed of this day ever since I had my surgery and now that it has finally come, I’m ready to get back to work. I feel at home on the mound, and I wouldn’t have been able to get back without your help”, I said. “It has been a pleasure working with you all this time, and I can’t wait to see what you do next. Just promises me this one thing”, he said. “Anything for you Doc, whatever it is, I’ll do it”, I said. He looked at me right in the eyes and said the one thing that had been on my mind since that fateful night, “Win the Pennant”. There was a brief moment of silence in the room and neither of us had blinked for a minute when I finally said, “I’m way ahead of you on that one, Doc”.

I couldn’t spend anymore time away from the team, so later that day I drove over to the clubhouse to make my long awaited return. I walked into the facility feeling like a million bucks. Recovery time for Tommy John is usually anywhere from a year to a year and a half, but I recovered in only 9 months. As you could imagine, everyone from the PR department to the janitorial staff was surprised to see me back so soon. I greeted all those I hadn’t seen for some time and made my way towards the locker room, where I was sure to be welcomed back with open arms. I threw the doors open and said, “Boys! Look who’s back!” Everyone was taken over by emotion and they all cheered upon my immediate arrival. I was showered by my teammates, all of them wanting to catch up and tell me they can’t wait for me to get back on the mound. I felt like a celebrity in an entire room full of them! As I navigated through the crowd, I saw my manager, elated, and I went over and gave him a warm embrace. “It’s been quite a while but if I’m being honest I am surprised to see you back in good health this soon” he said. “ Well Skip, the body heals in mysterious ways, doesn’t it. I can promise you one thing though, I am ready to pitch as soon as you give me the word,” I said. After I said that, he pulled me into his office so we could talk one on one without any distractions. “ Here’s the thing, Kid. The way we are playing right now is doing more than just getting us by. We are sitting atop the division by more than a dozen games and are in good position for a first round bye come October, and with you being back much sooner than expected, I don’t really have a spot in the rotation for you at the moment,” he said. “What are you saying, Skip?” I said. “As much as it hurts to say this, we don’t need you right now,” he said. “ But Skip, last year I would have won the MVP award had it not been for the injury. Hell, we might have even gone all the way and won the big one!” I said. “The way these boys are playing right now, we are clear favorites to win, even without you as our ace.” he said. “For the time being, I’m going to have to have you take a seat on the bench until further notice.”

I have been sitting on the bench for what feels like an eternity now. Everytime I stand up to celebrate a home run with one of the guys, I find a new splinter in my leg. It as been a month since Skip and I had that conversation, and the team is now locked in a tight race with our rivals for the division title. Just before the last game of the season, a game that would decide the pennant, the team received some horrible news. Tonight’s starting pitcher was sick with a bad case of the flu, and would be unable to pitch. All of the other guys in the rotation had all pitched last night in a marathon game that went 18 innings, and all of our relievers weren’t warm enough to take the bump. It had been a while but I was ready, and I just needed Skip to give me the green light. He came over to me, just hours before the game, handed me the ball, and finally said it: “You’re up, Kid.” 

I breeze through most of the game. I had little trouble finding comfort back on the mound and was pitching a shutout through 8 innings. That was when he stepped up to the plate, the Monster. I thought back to this same exact moment from last year, and I knew I needed to redeem myself. I knew I had to give him my best, and he had to give me his. I started him off with a 102 mph fastball, high and inside, just to get him on his toes. He gave me that familiar smirk, he knew it was about to be a battle. Second pitch was a nice, lingering changeup in towards his knees that he swung right through. 1-1 count. I threw another steamer, this time for a strike. Got him swinging for the fences just to end up swinging out of his cleats. 1-2 count. I tried to get him to bite on a slider next, but he just spit on it as it passed by. 2-2 count. At this point, he had me a bit nervous, so I got a little wild and whizzed the next pitch behind his head, advancing the tying run to third base. 3-2 count. It was the top of the ninth with two outs. The only thing stopping us from clinching the division title was this very moment. I had to relax. I threw him another fastball, right at his chest. He just got enough of it to hit it foul into the right field stands. At this point, I knew I had him on the ropes. It was time to end it. I got the sign from my catcher: curveball, down and away. I nodded. The crowd was completely silent. You could hear a pin drop in the stadium. I wound up, moved into my stride, and let the ball fly… STRIKE THREE, YOU’RE OUT!