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When I was 10, my baseball team had a playoff game against the team from Templeton. I was up at the plate with the bases loaded, and I worked the count to 3-0. And then the sprinklers came on.
We were playing at a defunct elementary school, and no one knew how to turn off the sprinkler timer. Oh, and this was the bottom of the sixth (final) inning, and we were down by one run.
So they ended up agreeing that the team from Templeton would have to drive back in three days and we would finish the game then. Templeton was like an hour away, at least. But the sprinklers were very much Not Turning Off, so what choice did we have?
So I had three days to think about what I was going to do to be a hero with the bases loaded and a 3-0 count in this tournament game. It was a big deal, for a 10-year-old.
I went through a lot of scenarios. Should I sit dead-red, looking for a pitch down the middle? Take no matter what in order to ensure a tie game?
But if you know anything about how competive I am, and if I know how quietly mischievous I was in elementary school, you already know the answer to this question: I was gonna show a fake bunt to rattle that pitcher, baby.
So three days later, Templeton loads up their stuff, and like 15 families drive back down to Los Osos for a game they are looking quite likely to lose (there were no outs, bases loaded, and we're only down by one run, remember). Warmups were weird for this game.
But coach insisted we treat it like any other game, even though three of our guys were gonna start on the bases like it was beer league softball extra innings on a work night. So, I stepped into the box.
I was ready, you'd better believe I was, and just as the pitcher started his short windup (no need to use the stretch, we weren't allowed to lead off until we turned 13), I showed bunt, aggressively, hoping to rattle the pitcher.
And of course, he threw it right down the middle. If I'd been braver, and also actually able to predict where the ball would go when I hit it, I could've won the game right there. Instead, it was strike one.
The next pitch was in the dirt, and I walked in the tying run. And then, as I stood on first, the very next pitch was also in the dirt. It got away from their catcher so badly that Paul on third base stole home. We won. This whole resumption of play had taken only 3 pitches.
I'm betting a lot of parents were Not Super Thrilled about driving the hour+ back to Templeton. But on the plus side, my fake bunt was easily the most interesting (albeit least successful) thing our team did all day. Baseball Hero.
~fin
~fin
