Those Are the Breaks

After a few weeks of being on the receiving end of world class ass-kickings and having several players on our softball team give up during games, our team entered the single-elimination playoffs last night as the #7 seed (out of 7 teams). As a result, we had to play the #2 seed (only because the #1 seed got a bye in the first round). The #2 seed beat us 18-3 in four innings earlier in the season. And that's when everyone was still trying.

So I spent most of the week trying to get the team fired up for what was most likely our last hurrah for the season. The message was simple: we play hard from start to finish, we make them TAKE the win from us instead of just giving it to them, and if we go down, we go down swinging. We leave everything on the field.

I did everything I could all week long to get everyone's hearts into the game. I sent e-mails, I sent inspirational speeches that I found on YouTube, I called people, I wrote our battle cry on the lineup, I talked to everyone before the game, I told Chuck's wife (who keeps book for us) not to reveal the score at any point during the game, and I kept my big mouth running the whole game through, getting fired up on good plays and keeping everyone focused on our goal: to try our best the whole way through.

And wouldn't you know it, it worked.

We were outscored 16-14, but it wasn't 18-3 this time, and we didn't have any quitters. Everyone gave it their all, and I couldn't have been more proud. We had people sliding into bases, beating out throws to first base, running full speed after fly balls, making outstanding catches in the outfield, making outstanding plays in the infield, and doing just what I asked of everyone: leaving it all out on the field. We even had one of our guys hit an out-of-the-park grand slam home run!! We did our absolute best, and we came darn close to pulling off a miracle.

Of course, since Chuck's wife followed my instructions to a T, I had no idea just HOW close we came until it was all over. In fact, we were the visiting team, and after we batted late in the game, I went back out on the field to play defense because I had no idea what the score was, or what inning we were in. Only after I got in position did I notice everyone else doing the line of congratulatory handshakes over by home plate, which meant the game was over.

I played second base and had a relatively quiet night there. They hit one grounder right to me, which I fielded easily and threw the runner out at first. Another grounder late in the game had some zip on it, but I still should have gotten it. Instead of stopping it with my glove, though, I stopped it with my throwing hand. That stung a little. The runner was safe, but he never came around to score, so no harm, no foul.

I had my best batting night of the season, going 3-for-4 with two doubles and two runs scored. I would have gone 4-for-4, but I couldn't run out my last hit.

Why?

Because on my second hit, which was my second double, I broke my ankle sliding into second base in the third inning.

I knew as soon as I hit the bag and felt and heard a pop that I had done something serious to my ankle. I have never broken a bone in my life before last night, so I had no point of reference, but I figured a broken bone would sound and feel like my ankle did.

Nevertheless, we didn't have an extra guy last night, and I wasn't about to come out of the game. What kind of sissified blowhard would I have looked like if I got my team believing in fighting to the bitter end, and then I quit halfway through the game? Nope. Wasn't going to happen. We were leaving it all out on the field, dammit, and that included me.

I actually came around from second base to score later in the inning. And I batted again later in the game and got a single. (I admit, though, that I asked to be replaced with a pinch runner after reaching first base. I know. I'm a wuss.) In my last at-bat, I'd have had another single if I had had two good wheels, but my body was starting to tell me that playing 3+ innings on a broken ankle was just about enough. Plus, I had fouled off a pitch earlier in the at-bat, and when my ankle rotated with my normal batting motion on that swing...well...let's just say that the sensation was unpleasant. Very unpleasant. Damn near drop-me-to-my-knees-and-cry-like-a-baby unpleasant. So when I hit it fair, it was all upper body, with my right foot off the ground. That I even got the ball past the pitcher with that ridiculous batting form is amazing.

So anyway, we all played our hearts out all the way through the game, and I'm damn proud to have played with that group of people last night. The loss is inconsequential. The other team is better than we are, and that's okay. Congratulations to them, and good luck the rest of the way. But we showed that if we try our best for all seven innings, we can hang in there with the best of 'em.

We didn't just give them a win. They had to take it. And that made last night--broken ankle and all--worth it.