A game with a purpose

It was one of those games that dragged on forever. The dirt was stuck to our sunscreened faces and our legs ached with bruises and scrapes from sliding and diving to keep the game locked at 1-1. It was Sunday and we all had to drive home that night to be back for school on Monday. We forgot what or whom we were playing for by the 15th inning – almost.

I don’t recall whom we played or where the tournament was held, but I do recall the fight that ignited inside me when I looked down at the “MB” adorned on my jersey. I suddenly remembered who we were playing for.

We took the field in the top of the 15th inning. It had been three up, three down on both sides for as long as I could remember, but we were ready for a change. With all the energy left inside my tired body, I yelled from my post at second base: “Hey batter!”

“What’s up?” echoed the remainder of the infielders.

“Swing the bat!” I chanted.

“Miss the ball!” they bellowed.

“Strike out!” I insisted.

“Strike out!” they repeated.

We yelled our childish chant at the top of our lungs the entire inning. Our pitcher was inspired, our coaching staff rallied behind us, and after a quick three outs, we trotted back to the dugout with a newfound enthusiasm.

I was leading off. On the first pitch, I poked a line-drive single right up the middle, past the pitcher and into the center fielder’s crouching body.

Allyson, my childhood friend and teammate, was up next. She struck out, but on the third strike, the catcher threw the ball to first with a little too much gusto in an attempt to pick me off. I dove back to first but the ball zoomed past the first baseman’s glove and down the right-field line. I made my way to second without looking back; the third base coach waved me forward and I did not hesitate. I stood up on third, safe.

Easton was up next, a power hitter, though a bit overzealous at times. All we needed was a hit on the ground – she came through.

As I slid into home, the umpire’s “safe” resonated somewhere far away from my ears. I was in another place for a short time and I couldn’t even feel the tremendous crater that now rested on my kneecap. When I came back to my senses, I noticed my enthralled teammates and coaches.

We won that game – which was our first tournament victory in three seasons – for Maurice Benetua (MB), our coach of three years who recently died of throat cancer. He had been diagnosed before I met him, and had he not been vocal of his condition, I would have never known. No complaints left his lips up to his last day – not of his disease or the fact that his team couldn’t seem to pull out a victory. He appreciated his remaining days and the time he had to spend with his loving wife and three daughters. Softball was his escape, and because of him, it became not just a sport our parents urged us to play, but something we loved.

Now that my days of competitive athletics have come to an end, my love for sports has not vanished. Growing up with my father, arguably the biggest sports fan to walk the earth, I was exposed to sports at an early age. Although as a child I rooted for either the “light” or the “dark” team, according to my father’s preference, I soon developed my own knowledge and interest in athletics, through watching games and competing in them.

I often hear people say they can’t be bothered with reading the sports section or watching sports on television. To some, stories are just a jumble of numbers and facts mixed in with some quotes. Sometimes this may be true – but not always.

As a sports writer, I am less interested in statistics or scandals and more prone to digging up the Maurices of the world. In my career, I dream to find those stories of coaches, fans or teams who inspire change and affect people’s lives.

Sports exhibit so much more than physical talent; leadership, teamwork, communication and a passion to succeed are a few notable characteristics that carry over to the real world.

Meeting celebrities, covering a halftime show or making a name for myself through broadcasting are not priorities. Sports are an instrument for inspiration and a means to bring enthusiastic community members, even nations, together. Through my writing, I hope to facilitate this sense of togetherness and feed those passionate fans their daily sports dosage.

I hope you enjoy the sports section.