Little League Courage

            Patrick nervously grabbed a bat and walked to the on deck circle, where he rubbed his left shoulder. The soreness lingered, even though it had now been 48 hours since the fastball created the black and blue mark he had been staring at in the bathroom mirror just an hour ago.

            He wondered if his fear was noticeable to his teammates as he replayed the moment of terror he felt in the split second he realized he wouldn't be able to get out of the way of the pitch. He cringed when he recanted the pain he felt, which sent him sprawling to the dirt and yelping in agony.

            Now here he was again, about to enter the batter's box for the first time since that fateful at bat. His teammate had just popped out to second. He took a deep breath and bit his lower lip as he took the first tentative steps toward home plate.

            Patrick instinctively raised his right hand toward the umpire for time as he dug his cleats into the far back side of the batter's box. He could feel drips of sweat running down the sides of his face as he glanced up toward the pitcher, who stood patiently waiting for Patrick's ritual to cease.

            His chest felt tight as he raised his bat and took his stance. The crowd's encouragements were audible, but to Patrick it was almost as if they were a faraway echo. The voice inside his head overrode the sounds of his teammate's chanting, with it saying, 'Don't bail out. Be tough. Stay in the box!'

            Then the pitcher began his windup.

            Patrick recognized immediately that the first pitch was headed toward the strike zone. He made a conscious effort of keeping his back foot from bailing out as he strode toward the ball with his front leg and began his swing. The BRONCOS lettering across the front of his jersey became visible to the center fielder as he completed his stride and executed a level swing. The sharp ping of the aluminum bat told everyone within earshot that solid contact had been made.

            The ball headed on a line toward the shortstop, who took two steps to his left, scooped it up from the dirt, and fired across the diamond to first. Halfway down the first base line Patrick recognized he'd be out, but the tightness in his chest disappeared as he completed the 60 foot dash to the bag. He tapped first base lightly with his cleats and turned to return to the dugout, tipping his head low to hide the smile that covered his face.

            Patrick was out, but he was proud. He had overcome his fear of the ball. Playing the game he loved was fun again.