My headphones in and the world disappears. I sit close to the window and stare as the trees flash past. I keep thinking about the beautiful plays I need to make; the perfect ground ball to field, the transfer and the dive to the ground that covers my uniform in dirt and fills the air with the smell of triumph. I look down at the prestine white 8 that is now my new identity. No name, no nick-name, just a number among numbers all contributing towards victory.
When the field is finally in view, the team begins to get restless and shuffle around to get their things in order. A few people are like me; dedicated, focused, intesnse. A few others are in a football mentality left over from a past season; pumped up, ready to go, animalistic. To me it doesn't matter so long as we all understand the goal. The goal starts with the pitcher and catcher. They are the leaders of the game, the ones who control the pace and determine where the ball is going once it comes off of the bat. The middle infielders are always on the same page, only a flip or double play away from proving the connection. The outfielers are fast and strong, chasing down long-gone balls and throwing people out from miles away. The first basemen is a play off finess, scooping balls thrown too low or jumping up to snatch down a surely overthrown ball.
Then there is the thirdbaseman. Usually the awkward player on the team, capable of doing not much but side stepping left or right and beaming a throw back to first base. But our team is different. Our thirdbasemen is gangely and surely a strange looking person, but faster than anyone on the team, never afraid to lay out to his right or left to stop the ball from entering the outfield. He picks baseballs off of the line that are going into the wall for a double and if there is a fly ball hit within 100 feet of him, be sure that he is going to get it.
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