You know the kid. The one in the outfield kicking dirt and picking daisies. His parents, religiously cheering from the bleachers. Because he likes baseball. Probably loves the snack bar tickets more, but nonetheless, loves being there.
Game after game, pitch after pitch, one missed fly ball after the next.
Pay attention, get your arm up…be ready. These are refrains he often hears from the sidelines.
Persistence, practice, but more importantly? Belief in oneself.
The bases are loaded, 2 outs, and the home team is kind of down and out. Parents are starting to lament the length of the game.
Isn’t it over yet? It’s a school night. Dinner, bath, and homework are still on the evening to-do list.
The batter whacks the ball. Hard. To the right field. Pop fly.
Runners are making their way to home plate.
But wait…the ball? It’s caught. Never touched green.
That kid caught it. Caught the fly ball to right field.
Who was that?
You barely see it. Can hardly believe it. And yet…you can.
It’s right. It’s his moment.
Finally.
His team gathers around him and I’m not kidding, they pick that kid up and cheer for him.
The smile on his face says it all.
It’s not a movie but it sure seems that way.
Not wanting to miss a second of that look on his face, I resist the temptation to grab my camera. I’m not worried though, it’s a look I’ll never forget.
Yeah, that happened…and I’m sure happy for “that kid.”
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