Baseball season continues for our oldest son. Last week, Wes had quite the game, a game he’ll be telling his grand kids some day.
It was a hot, windless Saturday. Their opponent was state ranked with exceptional hitters. The team knew they were going to have to be sharp, ready, and at their best. Wes began pitching. Fastballs, sliders, change ups were all mixed to get the right combination for a strike out. At the top of the sixth, our team was ahead 2 to 0. With two outs, the number one batter came up. He looked determined, but so was Wes. Strike one. Strike two. Ball one and on the pitches went until the batter had a full count, fouling off to 11 pitches. Wes’s face showed strain yet determination.
All of sudden his voice boomed to the catcher from the mound. “Riley. Get ready. Fast ball. Low and inside.”
His coach retorted, “WES, what are you doing?” With a shrug-off and a stare-down look, Wes reached his long arm back almost touching the ground, twisted his hips for velocity, and threw a stinging pitch into the catcher’s mitt. SSSSSSSpop. The batter swung at air, looking back in disbelief. Wes just started to walk off the mound.
“Strike three. Batter’s out,” resounded the umpire.
The crowd was stunned silent. What just happened?
Then erupting cheering rang out from his teammates. “That was amazing!” The talk ignited the boys to finish with a win.
“I’m not sure if I could do that again,” Wes told me later,”but I was just tired of pitching to that guy. It was time for the inning to be done.” I just smiled. My son had a Babe Ruth call-out pitch, something only a few could ever dare to do.