The face paint dripped down my face from the sweat and refreshing water that I would constantly splash on my face. My #14 now looked like a smudge of blue on both of my cheeks, but I lived for this. I lived to play softball, and I lived for tournaments like the one I was at. It was an all day tournament, which means I got to spend my whole day with my fans, my coaches and most importantly, my team. My team is top-notch, and we are all best friends. We support, encourage, and help each other at all times, and all the other county teams knows that no one cheers louder than our team.

The games were hot and started early in the morning, but we never lost our edge. We played like it was out last game and our energy level was at its highest. We put our all into every game, which is why we deserved the spot in the semi-finals. This was the game that would determine who would be competing in the championships. My team wanted this, and I wanted this. We had worked hard all day, and there was no way we were about to give up. We thrived off each other’s energy as one of the most important games of our lives took place.

As our opponents started to warm up we quickly realized that they were good, but we strived to keep our faith that we were better. The sun was shinning bright on the field. It seemed as if it was a spotlight, highlighting our game for all to see. I looked into the stands and saw all of the proud parents cheering eagerly. I ran out to third base, for we had the advantage of being the home team. The first few innings can be described as an evenly matched game. We were in a tug-of-war game and every time one team pulled a little harder, the other team matched up their strength.

By the last inning, the score was 2-2, and we were up to bat our last licks. Our coach gathered us in the dugout and of course gave us a pep talk to boast our already high energy. But to be honest, I don’t remember what she said; I don’t remember her words and I don’t remember the familiar cheer even though I know we said it loud and proud. I’m not sure why I don’t remember that vital speech, but I will always remember what happened next.

By the time I got up to bat there were two outs and second and third base were loaded. One of my closest friends was on third base and I knew she wanted to score. No, she did not just want to score, she needed to score. I could tell by the look on her face that this is all she cared about; she needed to win this game. I looked back into the dugout and saw the same expression on every one else’s face. They were counting on me, and I knew I couldn’t let the down. I had to do this, not only for myself, but also for my team. I stepped in the batters box: strike one. I stepped out took a swing, and got ready for the next pitch. Next pitch: ball one. Next pitch: strike two. I stepped out again and looked back in the dugout, but this time I did not see the same desperate expression that screamed, “you need to do this”. Instead, I saw hope. I saw that my teammates believed that I could do this, and when I looked in the stands I saw and heard the cheers from excited parents and fans.

I took a deep breath, and stepped back in the box. I lifted my head and starred at the pitcher. I adjusted my grip on my bat, bent my knees slightly, and ignored all noise. I blocked out everything except the bright yellow ball. I don’t remember what my coach’s last words were and I don’t remember the probably loud roaring cheer from my teammates. All I remember is that next pitch.

The pitcher winded up, and I could feel the energy in my body. The pitch came to me, almost as if it was meant for me. The pitch came outside and a little low; exactly were I like it. I took a step, turned my hips, and drove my hands to the ball as the bat made contact and the most beautiful sound emerged at the crack of the bat. This is the sound I cherished most. At that sound, I finally started to hear everyone else. The screams and yells of excitement rushes to me from the stands and the dugout as I ran to first base. The ball was still soaring into right field, and it dropped before the right fielder could catch it. As she picked it up and tried to through it home in time to get out my teammate who was at third, it was already too late. I rounded first base, going onto second, when I saw my teammate slide into home, safe by a mile. My running then turned into a high jump as I screamed with excitement. My hands were in first as I threw them up and around with joy, wasting all my energy on that moment.

I turned to our dugout and I saw my best friend, running out to me with all of her catcher’s gear on. She wobbled out as she ran with all of the gear on, but this just made the memory more authentic. I ran to her and jumped on her as she hugged me. I was soon crowded by the rest of my team; all around me were the familiar faces of my teammates. Everyone was giving me high-fives and slapping my helmet, I felt famous at that moment. I took in all the energy and excitement and rejoiced in the fact that I just hit my first walk off homerun; I had just put my team in the championship spot.

In the end, we did not win the championships, but honestly, I was not disappointed, for I already had my time to shine.