TouchedByMadness

Legend

I’ve always been the kid who got picked last for teams in gym class. I’m small, I’m slow, and let’s be honest, I’m not terribly coordinated. I could never be described as “athletic.” Something I should have reflected upon before joining the company softball team.

I think most people would award me the title of “least talented player,” but the coach generally had to play me anyway because our league requires a certain number of women to be on the lineup. Basically I showed up so everyone else could play. That was, sadly, my greatest contribution to the team. I’m a guaranteed out. My first year, I struck out nearly every time I was at bat.

This year I didn’t fare much better. I could hit the ball, but it tended to make it to first base long before I did. My teammates offered words of encouragement every time I trudged back to our bench with head hanging, but I was sure that my lack of skill frustrated them. It certainly frustrated me.

The season ended and we prepared for the playoffs. With each week of rain that delayed the start of the postseason, I became more uneasy about playing. As far as I was concerned, it was time to acknowledge my lack of athleticism and hang up my glove. But I had committed to the team, they needed me to be able to play, and our first playoff game was just across the street. So on the appointed day, I half-heartedly trotted across the road and assumed my place in right field.

The game started a few minutes late because one of the women on the opposing team hadn’t shown up yet and the rules specify they need five to play. Our team took the field and warmed up while we waited. Traditionally I never warm up because I’m embarrassed by my inability to throw or catch the ball. But the left center fielder threw a couple my way, so I was forced to practice. Happily, I caught what came to me and scolded him not to use up all my catches before the game.

Amusing, of course, because nothing ever comes to right field.

Eventually the missing woman turned up and we were able to begin. Some of our coworkers wandered over to watch us. My teammates played well and quickly took a good lead over our opponents. For the most part, I stood idly in right field and watched dragonflies.

I was probably doing just that in one of the later innings when the ball flied out to right field. I watched it arc over the infield when my brain clicked and directed me to run towards it. I charged forward, trying to position myself in the ball’s path, but I’m not a very good judge of these things. My teammates later told me they were yelling “In! In!” but I didn’t hear them. I was completely focused on the ball and trying to get near it. Unfortunately, I had been playing deep and there was no way I was going to make it. Without really thinking, I did the only thing that made sense to do. I reached forward as far as I could and dove. I watched the ball land in my glove as the ground came up to meet my body. I rolled a few times, then held up my prize to show I hadn’t dropped it.

The team went crazy.

I had caught not only the last out of the inning, but the last out of the game. What I didn’t know until I reached the infield was that we had enough runs to mercy the other team. My teammates came rushing at me from all directions giving me high fives and pats on the back. All around me I heard shouts of “Incredible catch!” and “Alright, Stacey!” and “That’s one for ESPN!” Even the coach jogged out to meet me, announcing, “That was freaken fantastic!”

There I was, once the girl who started little league with a huge shiner because I caught the ball with my face instead of my glove, being glorified as making the best play all year. One of my coworkers said he thought they might actually carry me off the field. To say it was surreal would be an understatement.

It was the most amazing moment of my life.

At work people keep coming up to me and saying, “I heard you made this great catch.” It’s getting embarrassing. I’ve told them that if I were a better player, the catch would have been much less impressive because I would have been under the ball, not eating grass, but my coach says to bask in my moment of fame. In a way it feels wrong because there are talented players on our team that make those ESPN-worthy catches every game.

In reality, the only reason my catch was so exceptional was because I’m the mousy girl who was never meant to make it.

Then again, maybe that’s the point.