Jordan was starting to get that feeling again. That shaky, odd sort of feeling he always got before he went up to bat in an important game. And boy, if there was ever an important game, it was this one. They had worked hard all season: training, weight-lifting, batting practice. Tournaments every weekend, all summer long. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been able to sleep in past 7:00 a.m. But it was finally paying off here at the 14U Baseball World Series at Disney. His team, the Bees, had breezed through every game so far. They had beaten every team with ease. Jordan almost couldn’t believe that they were here, in the bottom of the last inning of the last game of the tournament, against the best team he had ever faced: The Bulldogs.
Jordan quickly ran through the situation in his head for the millionth time in the last five minutes. The score was tied at six to six. There was a runner on second; that was good. Jordan hadn’t gotten a hit in the last two days; that was bad. He didn’t know what his problem was. He’d had a great season, with at least one hit every game and three home runs. Until Disney, that is. He just couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong. The whole team had been working hard to improve this week, and the whole team had---except for him. No matter what he did, Jordan just couldn’t hit the ball. He had tried everything he, his coaches and his dad could think of, but nothing worked. It was as if his bat was a magnet, repelling the ball, refusing to make contact. But no, that wasn’t it; he had tried different bats. It was as if he was repelling the ball. And now was the worst possible time for that to happen.
So far there was only one out. Jordan was the batter on deck. Up now was Tyson, one of the Bees’ best hitters. Jordan stepped off to the side while Tyson stepped into the batter’s box. “Strutted” was probably a better word. Tyson was good and he knew it. He exuded confidence. Jordan gave a good hearty practice swing with the first pitch. He heard the umpire’s growl. “STRIKE ONE!”
No big deal, Jordan thought. He was just eyeing the ball. He would get the next one. But not ten seconds later, he heard the ump again. “STRIKE TWO!”
Uh oh, he thought. “Come on Tyson, you got this!” he yelled, praying that he really did. If Tyson didn’t score a run, then there would be two outs. That meant that it would all fall on Jordan’s shoulders. He was screaming in his head, Please, Tyson. Please get a hit. Just get on base. But he watched the third pitch sail right by Tyson and into the catcher’s mitt with a loud thud. Jordan’s hopes sank with the “BATTER’S OUT!” from the umpire.
Well, it’s all over now, he thought miserably as he took his place in the batter’s box. But hang on a sec, a small voice in the back of his mind said. You know you can do this. You’ve done it a million times. Just hit the ball. Jordan stepped out of the box and took a few more practice swings, only this time with more enthusiasm. He wasn’t going down without a fight. Or at the very least, a couple good swings.
I can do this. I have to do this. He got back in the box and placed his arms and legs. The pitcher was watching for a signal. Jordan thought he looked rather stupid, just staring like that, and that calmed him down a little bit. Then the pitcher reared back and, before he knew it, the ball had flown past him. “STRIKE ONE!” shouted the ump.
The Bulldogs’ fans were cheering louder than they had all day. The Bees were trying to out-yell them with cheers of encouragement for Jordan, but he could hardly hear them. He was determined to hit the next pitch. Again the pitcher threw the ball, but Jordan was ready this time. He started to pull forward to swing but suddenly stopped himself. “BALL!” cried the ump.
His team clapped and smiled, shouting “good eye, good eye!” Jordan got back into position. Another pitch was thrown, another ball for the count. Now it was 2-1. At least the odds were in his favor. The next pitch came, and Jordan swung hard and fast. He heard the bat hit the ball and took off running, only to hear the umpire screaming, “FOUL BALL!”
Jordan turned around and slowly jogged back. He noticed that the runner on second had made it to third, and he wondered when that had happened. There was a full count now; three balls, two strikes. He assumed the position at the plate. This was literally it. This hit would either make him a hero or send him home in shame.
Everyone was screaming for their team. Were they this loud before? Jordan didn’t think so. He wished he could tell them to stop; he couldn’t focus on anything with all that yelling! He stepped out of the box. Get it together, he told himself. He looked around at his teammates, the coaches, the crowd. He spotted his dad almost immediately. He wasn’t cheering like everyone else; he was just watching, waiting to see how his son would handle the pressure. That was almost more than Jordan could take. Shake it off, shake it off. He stepped back up and got set.
The pitcher looked a little shaky too; this was a big moment for him as well. He threw the ball, and again Jordan swung. CLANG! He made contact! He dashed down to first base but knew the outcome of the play before he even got there. The runner on third had made it home, and the Bees won the game seven to six! They had won the Disney World Series, all thanks to his hit! He looked over at the screaming crowd and realized that he had never been so excited for a baseball game to end.
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