7 Days at the Hot Corner by Terry Trueman

course, if we don’t get at least one run, we will lose. I refuse to think about losing. I refuse to consider the possibility that our season could end in a loss. Life is full of losing and losses—ones we can’t do anything about. This is only a high school baseball game, but I am not going to let us lose today—life lets us win some of the time too. I need to win this thing—I need this win!
    I’m due up fourth. Allen Smitter, our second baseman, leads off the inning. He walks up to the plate and drives the first pitch hard up the middle for what looks like a sure base hit until that incredible little Priest River shortstop makes another absolutely fantastic play, diving from out of nowhere to snag the ball and throw Allen out by two steps. Our coach, Mr. Trefts, pinch-hits Brad Collins for our pitcher, and Brad works a 3–2 count into a walk by fouling off two potential third strikes. Next up, batting just in front of me, is Matt Tompkins. Matt is one for three with a single in the fourth inning. He’s our best power hitter, but he also leads the team in strikeouts and at hitting into double plays. If Matt can get on base or at least stay out of a double play, I’ll get to hit. I’ll either be the hero or the goat. My adrenaline pulses through me.
    I walk to the on-deck circle and try to quiet my breathing. Inside my head I talk to myself like an ESPN Sportscenter announcer: “Collins represents the tying run and is on first. Tompkins, the big first baseman, is at bat, the potential winning run. And in the on-deck circle is Scott Latimer, two for two today with a walk, an RBI, and a run scored. It’s important for Tompkins to stay out of the double play and to—”
    An incredible crack of the bat interrupts my fantasy broadcast. Matt hits a one-hop dart right down the third-base line, where Priest River’s third baseman, the hero of the top half of the ninth, is hugging the line. There is no doubt that they can turn a double play to end the game—Matt hasn’t even gotten out of the batter’s box when the ball smacks into the third baseman’s glove.
    â€œFoul ball,” the umpire calls and signals, spreading his arms out wide. Even from my spot in the on-deck circle I can see the crease in the dirt, two inches foul, five feet in front of third base.
    If Matt strikes out, we’ll be down to our last chance, down to my last at bat. I want it. I have played hard and practiced my whole life for this moment. A part of me is scared, but lately I’ve faced much bigger fears!
    Matt takes a pitch, high and in for a ball, then another one low and away. Two balls and one strike. That count favors Matt, but their pitcher has pitched us well all day.
    I need to clear my head, forget about failure and winning and losing, and just relax.
    I look up toward the bleachers, up into the seats, hoping to catch a glimpse of my dad or mom or Travis. I need to escape from the pressure. I take a couple of slow, deep breaths and whisper, “Hum baby, hum baby,” to myself, getting ready; I even smile—
    Crack!
    It’s a sound like no other in sport: the sound of a bat crushing the life out of a hard-hit fastball. The second I hear it, I know that if it’s fair, it’s gone. I look up in time to see the ball sailing into the sky toward straightaway center field. Matt drops his bat, raises his arms, and starts off toward first base at a quick trot.
    The ball clears the fence by a good fifty feet. Home run!
    It’s over.
    We’ve won!
    All of our guys, who’ve been pressed up against the chain-link fence of the dugout, wearing their rally caps upside down and inside out, pour onto the field, jumping up and down like maniacs. I’m stunned. Of course, I’m happy we’ve won! We’ve set a new record for consecutive wins in an undefeated season, and we are the champs. But I also feel like I’ve lost my last chance. As I