One Year Later

My fingers grasp the baseball, and I run my thumb across the baby-soft leather and raised stitching. I love the contrast from smooth to rough. But more importantly, I love the power that comes with holding this baby in the palm of my hand. It all comes down to the next three outs.

The cheers seem muffled, as if I’m in a tunnel, as I scan the ballpark and absorb their excitement. There’s a buzz in the air. A current that pulses through my veins. The time I’ve waited for my entire life has arrived—game seven of the World Series, top of the ninth with a two-run lead.

It doesn’t get any better than this.

My gaze falls to the box seats that house my wife and beautiful daughter and son. Even though I can’t see them, I know their watchful eyes are spying down on me in hopeful anticipation. A sense of pride swells inside me. This time last year, I didn’t know if I’d ever play again, much less play for the Philadelphia Phillies. A team that had stuck by me my entire career, including my demise of last year. I lost our bidding for the World Series and let my team down. It took a lot of hard work and determination, but I managed to come back. With the starting rotation a thing of the past—an adjustment I made toward the end of last season—my talents are now best served in the closer position. Midway through this year, I garnered control over my cutter and curveball and have been untouchable ever since.

Three more outs.

What sweet redemption this could be. With this save, my future will be set, family secure, and a championship to top off the scene. Sweet redemption indeed.

I step to the rubber and place my left foot against the home plate side.

I stare into AJ’s eyes. He gives me the signal, and I nod, set, and throw.

Fastball, up and high.

Strike one.

The next pitch gets fouled off.

Strike two.

I adjust and throw my cutter.

Strike three. Out number one.

AJ throws the ball back to me, and I rub the ball with my thumb again.

This next batter likes to swing at anything high and away. Every player has a pattern they follow. Some sort of weakness. The coaches can tell them to lay off certain pitches until they’re blue in the face. But these guys can be stubborn. When the ball appears hittable, they swing, essentially striking out. It’s that occasional hit when they connect that feeds their addiction to keep swinging.

As he steps to the plate, I know exactly the pitch I’ll be throwing. High heat, away.

Smack.

Shit, he connected. I watch the ball pop out to right field. Rodriguez runs in, and I think the ball will drop, but he makes a leaping dive and somehow comes up with the ball in his glove.

Out number two.

I point to Rodriguez with a you’re-the-man salute. Damn, he saved our ass.

Refocusing on the next batter, I stare at my catcher as he flashes my new signs.

With a quick two strikes, AJ sets up and wiggles two fingers. Knuckle curveball. The same pitch that ended our World Series run last year. I shake him off, but he signals the same sign. Shit. I’ve got this.

Not everyone is deserving of a second chance, and I’m not saying I am. But I got one anyway with family and a career. And you can bet your sweet ass, I damn sure won’t waste it. How many chances does a guy get at becoming a second-chance hero in more ways than one? I’ve got this.

Placing my middle finger along the bottom seam and thumb across the back seam, I tuck my index finger under. I’ve got this. I windup, my knuckle points to my target, and I throw. The batter smacks the ball to the shortstop, Jax. He scoops the ball, double pumps, and throws to first base.

Holy shit! We won!

I throw my arms up and let out a yell. A roar ruffles through the stadium, and I turn to Jax who’s running to me, arms spread wide.

“Yeah! You did it!” he yells, wrapping his arms around me.

The next thing I know, I’m tackled by a horde of teammates. Jumping. Shouting. Congratulating.

When they break away from me, I scan the field and search for my family. I shouldn’t have to wait long before they’re allowed to join us.

I’m interrupted by the media while the lady drills me with a few questions. Gonzalez comes from behind and lifts me in the air, officially ending my interview. With a few more fist bumps and hugs from teammates and congratulations from the opposing team, the Angels, I see my family running toward me. Finally!

“You did it,” Lacey says with tears streaming down her eyes.

“Daddy, you’re number one!” Zoe says as I reach down to pick her up.

Lacey juggles our son on her hip as we embrace in a family group hug. I was wrong before. This moment right here ... yeah, life doesn’t get any better than this.

Don’t want to miss bad boy, Jax Carrigan, in Swing For The Fences? Just flip the page for more details.