I'm sure you all have had similar experiences.

Yesterday, my team led the best perennial best team in the league 6-4 in the top of the ninth. We had been assisted by, of all things, a triple play to erase their scoring threat in the eighth inning. With runners on second and third, no out, their batter hit a hard grounder right at third. Both runners froze as they should have. The throw to first was on the mark. The runner on third came part way off the bag to draw a throw from first. Instead, the first baseman ran 20 feet or so toward the runner before the runner from third, now screwed, committed to home. At the same time, the runner from second, as he ought to have, moved up to third. A rundown trapped the runner from third until he retreated toward third where, incredibly, the runner from second now began stutter stepping back toward second. The catcher overtook the third base runner, tagged him, then ran the diagonal toward the runner from second who retreated perpendicular to the baseline and was called out. Remarkable.

The top of the ninth did not go so well for us. Our pitcher tired, walking a batter after allowing a hit. With runners on first and second and two out he worked the batter to a full count. He has a decent curveball and showed chutzpah also throwing it on 3-2. It wasn't good enough. The walk loaded the bases. The next batter hit a two run single to tie the game. The final hitter grounded out.

In the bottom of the ninth, tied 6-6, we faced a pitcher with an above average fastball, good command, and a decent if not unhittable breaking ball. One of our batters beat out an infield single on a close play at first. He advanced to second on another slow grounder. The next hitter struck out. I came up next, two outs, runner in scoring position, game tied, bottom of the ninth. The first pitch was a fastball outside. I reached, trying to slap it down the right field line but the foul was far to the right.The next pitch was a tailing fastball inside about belt high. I took it to bring the count 1-1. I guessed fastball for the next pitch. I had seen two straight fastballs and had his delivery timed. He released a fastball on the inside corner just above knee level. I saw the ball very well, unsually well, and put a slight upswing or "golf swing' into my bat. I swung very hard and met the ball just in front of the plate... and popped it far up into the sky above home plate. The guess was right. The timing was right. The swing wasn't bad, either. It was just maybe a half inch low.

We lost in the tenth.

I keep hoping that one of these days, that half inch will go my way, but these situations don't come around often.

Damn, you had me hanging. Thought for sure you were going to hit a hard line drive, right at someone. The guy snow-coned it or something.
Baseball, a game of half-inches.

had me too. what a well-told story. how many times can you go over it in your mind, again and again, in some way trying to change the past, to make it right.

man, i'm starting to get real melancholy now. :idk:

anyway,it was really well-written. do you intend to regale us with more tales this season, warranting a sticky for this one perhaps? i'd love it.

Now that you mention it, maybe I should have fictionalized it a bit and made the ball a smash down the third base line, snow coned as you suggested. Popping up was less satisfying than that, but better than striking out. Neither the Natural nor quite Casey at the Bat. I'm glad you enjoyed reading it.

I hope I get to play enough interesting games to warrant writing more about them! :wink:

I'm happy to say that last week, the half-inch went my way.

We were playing a team of divas and drama queens otherwise known as the Indians. We’ve got three years of bad blood with these guys. With two out in the second inning, they intentionally walk one of our best hitters. I have never seen an intentional walk in four years, but there it was. After all, winning is apparently everything. Then, unbelievably, they proceed to try and intentionally walk another of our best hitters, to load the bases and get to me. Obviously, I’m really insulted by this turn of events. After all, I was the guy who got the two-run single to tie the game against them in the final last year.

What happened next was almost surreal -- our leadoff hitter crept slowly off third base, further and further toward the plate with each pitchout, with no one paying attention, and then broke for home on the throwback to the pitcher. He got caught, but it was a bold move nonetheless. The next inning, batting second, I want to make them pay for that insult, but I ground into a double play instead.

Fast-forward to the bottom of the 8th, and we’re down by one. With two on, I’m in the hole and still thinking about that second-inning insult. I’m telling to myself that if they give me a chance, I’d like to hurt them. Badly. I’m on deck with two on and two out. The hitter walks. I’m heading to the plate with the bases loaded.

The first pitch is a big, fat fastball down the middle...................and I foul it off. I’m thinking that’s the last good pitch I’m going to see. I’m thinking about Stanhouse getting burned by that half-inch. I don’t want to be a victim, too. I look at a curveball, and it’s 1-1. An inside curveball, and I foul that off, too. Next pitch, a low fastball that’s probably too close to take, but I run the count to 2-2.................and then, here it comes. A fastball over the inner third of the plate. I’m a sucker for this pitch, but I rarely can keep my hands in or get out in front enough to get the barrel on it. Damn, I’m a little too extended and behind the pitch this time, too. A bit of a handle shot, no room for error, but I center it on the bat and muscle it over the middle for a two-run single. We’re up one and I’m a freakin’ hero.

Top of the 9th, their leadoff hitter bunts on, steals 2nd, and advances to 3rd on a groundout. Next hitter strikes out. Why, against the guy with the best fastball in the league, do some hitters insist on taking even bigger swings? With the tying run on 3rd and two outs, we say what the hell and intentionally walk their best hitter. Tit-for-tat; let’s go with your theory and pretend we’re not a bunch of over-the-hill fat guys, and our children’s future depends on the outcome of this game. Losing a senior-league baseball game would end the world as you know it, and I would like to facilitate that.

Next at-bat, the team manager, the biggest diva of them all, the catcher who wanted to walk the bases loaded to get to me, flails wildly at two pitches, then flies out to right to end it.

Eff you, Indians.

Beautiful!

The attempted steal of home was cool.

Sluggo, I love it!
Extended half-way to the happy hunting grounds, two native-American diva/dq's watch as they are helplessly scalped by a diminishing handle-shot that drops in front of the CF, Sinkingball.