Monday, April 29, 2002

There can be only one

It is the semifinal game. The score is tied 12-12. Bottom half of the inning. Two outs. Men on second and third. I come up to bat. I swing a massive homerun cut (only a practice swing before I step up to the plate). The outfielders back up. I point to the outfield for five long seconds. They start backing up even more. I stare at the shortstop. Our eyes lock and he backs up as well. I knock out a weak hit when everyone was expecting a mammoth rip. We win. The universe owed me that one.

On the opposite field the same scenario is being played out. Two outs, men on, bottom half of the last inning, and Omar wins the game. Omar is a friend of mine and was the team captain of our men's team and works with me at the rec center. He's a real good guy, but one of us has to lose tomorrow. They had asked me to play on their team but the team I am on now asked me first. It feels weird to have both teams playing for the championship. It sucks that one of us has to lose.

Already Omar and I are trying to figure out who to invite on our summer league team. It won't be so bad if we lose tomorrow. At least one of us will get the championship.