More Than A Game: Chapter 15 The bat resting on his shoulder, Brian waited in the on-deck circle. He tried but couldn’t concentrate on the pitcher. He kept glancing around the stadium. He felt like he was in a petri dish under a microscope. A million eyes seemed to follow him to the batter’s box. “Strike one!” yelled the home plate umpire. Brian stepped out of the box. He felt his heart jack-hammering in his chest. His hands oozed sweat inside his batting gloves. He searched for the figure by the fence. He found his father, and he remembered, the game’s not played in the stands. It’s played on the field. He exhaled as he stepped back into the box. Silence. It was as if he dove and was swimming underwater. He saw the pitcher as through a zoom lens but everything else was unfocused. He saw the rotations, the stitches revolving on the white sphere streaking towards the plate. The impact jarred his arms as the sphere cratered into the end of the bat. He tossed the bat to the ground. As he ran towards first, he followed the arc of the ball. He saw it start to drift. Rounding first base he heard the umpire call, “Foul ball.” He jogged back and picked up his bat. As he repositioned himself in the batter’s box, he heard the voice, as if his father were standing right behind him. The first swing’s yours. After that you just try to put the ball in play. Brian rubbed his batting gloves along the bat’s handle. He brought the bat high above his shoulder lowered his chin and eyed the pitcher. His wrists snapped driving the ball down. It streaked through the opening between the shortstop and the third baseman. As soon as he made contact, he sprang forward just as he would in the 100-yard dash. Rounding first base, he saw the left fielder race in and scoop up the ball. Not hesitating, he sprinted for second. Brian slid as he saw the second baseman lift his mitt to catch the throw. His toes touched the bag then the glove brushed against his calf. He called time, rolled then stood and smacked dust from his uniform with his Hens cap. He didn’t hear the cheers as he looked to the box seats between home and first base. He felt as if someone had just punched him in the stomach as he stared at his grandfather’s empty seat.