My momentary rival walks to the plate. Bat in hand. The transitory mindset that she can outsmart me on this play. Standing in the center of the action, in the moment, I stop and acknowledge the aspects of the game that bring a feeling of hominess and comfort to a sport that may seem impractical to outsiders. The environment around me is a controlled chaos that revolves around this yellow sphere I hold in my hand. When the ball is laying inside my glove, sounds and feelings run throughout the atmosphere but I know that once I step into the white chalk circle and onto the pitching rubber, the commotion will come to a screeching halt. What will happen in this next play? Who will win this brief confrontation between pitcher and batter? Who will win the whole competition between teams? Fans and players will be struck with wonder.

The smells and sights of the game remind me of common life as a child and bring a unique sense of comfort. Like the night of the Fourth of July, smells of freshly popped popcorn and hamburgers travel throughout the air to entice people to come and get them. These scents mixes with the crisp, refreshing aroma of freshly mowed grass that I have long sought after to cleanse my nose of the wet caked dirt that has filled my nose from previously sliding. This brown is just one of the earthly colors that dominate my surroundings to create a seemingly perfect balance between the natural world and reality. Standing on the pitching rubber and seeing the surrounding brown dirt brings out the innate instinct to play and get dirty in it, like a child does in a mud puddle or a sandbox. Then the two yellows appear, the blinding yellow ball that controls the game and the luminous sun that creates a sight that one can not help but notice.

There is a loud cornucopia of sounds but as I concentrate, I can distinguish familiarity in each one. Cheers are erupting left and right, some from teammates, who hope that they will get momentary glory from making the play, others from the rival team because they want me to make a mistake. While at the same time, coaches are “correcting” their players on what to do, yet still managing to hold their breath, thinking that that will prevent an error from being made. Umpire’s voices boom throughout the field from other games going on, the “ball” or “strike” is quickly masked by the parents who decide to voice their own opinions about what just happened. The parents become sardines along the backstop fence with their rainbow umbrellas and coolers set out; just like a beach scene where people are all gathered together to observe and respect what lies in front of them- a seemingly endless space where the possibilities are endless and within the depths lie secrets and rules that are hidden from ordinary view.

After the grueling day of rolling in dirt and feeling sweat drip off my nose, the showers are calling my name, but while on the brink of exhaustion, the unspoken decree to not stop until my work is done crosses my head. As an unknown author once said, “When you feel like giving up, remember why you held on for so long in the first place.” I know I must push through this pain to achieve the goals I have set for my future and even though this means finishing the day exhausted, I will finish it gratified because I gave all the energy that I could, left my daily strength on the field, and finished with no regrets. At this point, adrenaline is the only energy left to run on but life seems more exciting when this point is reached. It creates an urgency running through my veins which makes the game and situation at hand seem much more dramatic than it really is. The rays from the sun pound down to increase my exhaustion rate but once in a while a slight breeze comes alone to give momentary relief. I stand and absorb this cool gust as it gives me strength to keep working. A victory would be a little bit sweeter because ignoring that pestering… temptuous… desire to stop and let my body recuperate and rest had paid off in the end.

I focus back on the game at hand, the thoughts rushing through my head and the disorder surrounding me are suddenly blocked out when I step to the pitching rubber. I have no time to over think what is happening and I must be confident in my own skills because they have been good enough to get to get me where I am today. Two outs and two strikes on the batter. I look in. Take the sign from my catcher. She reads my mind and calls a change up outside. Deep breath to calm down then I go into my windup, pounce forward, snap the seams of the ball, and let it fly. The batter take a swing- no, a whiff- as the ball crosses the halfway point, strike three, she’s out. I hustle back to the dugout with a chuckle for I outsmarted the cocky opponent. Suddenly life rushes back to how it was and the sense of hominess and comfort from my surroundings enters into my mind once again. I sit, wait, and yearn for the next inning so I can start this adventure in the circle once again.