Oliver (6): Illness scare (7)

OUT OF THE LINE-UP

I ran out to left field and threw my first into my glove. It was the first game of the season and my first time playing as a starter. Normally sophomores didn't get to the big team until they were juniors or seniors, if they were lucky, but Coach Baker said he saw potential in me and wanted to see what happened.

After two initial strikeouts, the third batter grounded a nasty sinker to the second baseman. After an easy out, we strolled into the dugout. I was batting fourth, cleanup. That was normally reserved for seniors, but it was my spot in the junior varsity lineup, so Coach Baker wanted to see what I could do.

"Don't let it get to your head, Frensky," Coach warned when it was my turn to bat. Two on, one out, and I knew better than to do anything that stupid.

Swing and miss, wait and strike—CRACK! I launched the ball over the fence. I ran the bases, and as soon as my feet hit home plate, I got picked up and carried to the dugout. My teammates couldn't believe it and neither could I.

[LINE BREAK]

After more games and practices, my team members came to rely on me. We were winning most of the time and only losing to the toughest teams. We were looking at a playoff if we kept it up, and Coach Baker rode us hard to make sure we would do just that. One rainy Saturday morning, he called us all at home to make sure we would be at the field by eleven for practice. I showed up and found more mud than grass. The baseball diamond was hidden by the mud, and the outfield was one giant puddle.

"Hustle up, hustle!" the coach yelled, blowing into his whistle and sending us out for drills. He stood on what used to be home plate and started hitting line drives and pop-ups to whoever he could hit to. Rain started to fall in sheets. I missed a ball because the rain completely covered it up. Coach Baker wasn't happy at all: "YOU BLIND, FRENSKY?!"

"NO SIR!" I called back, coming in more so I could see the ball.

The next one was hit right to me. I ran and dove like the others had before, but something went wrong. Suddenly I was on my back in the mud, the ball rolling behind me. The coldness was such a shock I didn't even feel the pain until I tried to sit up. I cried out so loud even Coach heard me and ran up.

"What is it?" he asked firmly as the team gathered around me. I went to sit up and couldn't again. Something in my back was pulled each time, and it took the wind out of me any time I moved.

It took four guys to pick me up. I might've been the youngest on the varsity team, but I already outweighed half the guys, and I was almost taller than Coach. It wasn't easy, but they got me into the dugout and sat me down. Coach had the others run, leaving us alone in the dugout.

"Your back, huh?"

"Yes, Coach. It's like something's pulled too tight," I replied.

"Damn it, we don't have time for this. Last guy twisted his spine all to hell. He never played again. Always wore a back brace when I saw him last. He works over at the hardware store—"

"Dave?" I asked.

Coach Baker nodded, "Yep, used to go by Hank when he played after Hank Aaron. Now look at him," he said, and I couldn't help but nod. Dave was a good worker, but he couldn't lift anything and had to sit down a lot. If his dad didn't own the store, I wondered if he'd even work there.

Coach sent me home and let me walk by myself. I stumbled home and took a hot shower hoping that would help, but the pain was intense. My mom heard me and made me take some aspirin before sending me to bed.

That night I woke up in the same amount of pain, so she gave me dinner in bed with more pills and told me to sleep it off. Dad got me a heating pad but told me to "man up with all that whining business." I grunted at him and told him to keep his stupid heating pad.

By the end of the weekend, the pain was still there, so my mom called the doctor for me. He agreed to see me early Monday morning, so I called Coach at home and told him I wouldn't be at school that Monday nor at practice that afternoon. He actually groaned when he hung up. I was letting the team down.

[LINE BREAK]

"Well, son, looks to me like you pulled a tendon in your back. I'm prescribing a brace and light stretches after four weeks—"

"Four weeks?!" I cried. By then the season would be over, and we probably would've lost every game because I was off the team.

The doctor shook his head, "I'm sorry, son, but there's nothing I can do. Maybe next year."

I went home with a brace hidden under my shirt, an embarrassing stupid brace. I had to wear it all the time except to shower, and I had a note to get out of gym class and practice, but I still went to practice. I sat in the dugout and watched the guys do drills. I offered to run laps with them, but Coach told me to keep my butt on the bench or I was off the team.

So on the bench I sat, even during our next two games. By the third game, I decided to travel with the team to the next town but to sit in the stands with the others. By the fourth game, I had started my physical therapy, but it wasn't going well. It hurt to stand up straight, and the stretches really hurt, but I knew I had to keep doing them. Maybe by some miracle I'd be able to play in Friday night's championship series.

But that's not what happened. I sat on the bench while Coach Baker cheered at the third base line. We lost and our season was over, and I got to watch it all from the stinking bench.

[LINE BREAK]

After over a month of therapy, I finally felt better. The physical therapist lady taught me how to do different stretches to keep from pulling my back again. I did them every day, once in the morning and once at night, and I waited. Baseball season was a long way away, and I didn't have any classes with Coach Baker. I just had to keep an ear out for the tryouts and try my luck.

Finally the flyer appeared. I geared up and showed up on the field at three-thirty with the other prospects. The remaining teammates from the previous year were already there in their uniforms. They grinned to me and called me over, but I stayed until Coach Baker saw and gestured me up.

Coach gently patted me on the back, "This here is Frensky, our youngest player from last year. He's already on the team, but watch yourselves! Even with an injury, he showed up to every practice and every game to support his team. That, boys, is sportsmanship. That, boys, is what it means to play baseball. LINE UP AND GIVE ME FIVE LAPS!" he bellowed, blowing his whistle in my ears and gesturing wildly to the recruits to get them going.

I shook my head in disbelief, "How did I make the team without trying out?"

"You didn't quit, and if you're here, that means you put in the work during the off-season too. Either way, we'll find out at practice in two weeks. You've still got your position and your batting spot. No one else could quite fill your spot like you," Coach smiled, turning to the new recruits and chewing them out.

I remained with my team, helping to throw balls and hit dingers to the new recruits so Coach could choose his picks. It was just like old times, except it was better. I never thought I'd play again, yet here I was.

[LINE BREAK]

At the end of the season, we had a winning record. We lost the championship during a pitching duel, but it was worth the wait. My senior year, I was a star player, and I had colleges from all over the country sending guys out to watch me play. Coach Baker told them the story of my perseverance, which had them looking at me a lot harder.

This time we made the championships and didn't let some lame pitching duel bring us down. I knocked a two-run homer into the parking lot while the entire stadium cheered. It was the time of my life.

~End

A/N: 25 of 100, a quarter of the way there! I'm doing the 10x10 Challenge as my NaNo project, and I'm glad it's keeping me on track. And I got to do a baseball story! I love baseball and miss it so much now that it's over, but this was a nice break^^ If any of you want to do this challenge with me, you can find the themes and rules on my profile. If you have any questions or need to tell me about your responses to the challenge, shoot me a PM.