The Game

     The sunlight was pouring down on my back, and beads of sweat were running down my forehead. It was the hottest day yet, and we were still out there doing laps and catching balls. In my opinion, we were getting an overdose of Vitamin D. Yep. Suffering through practice under the sun’s unrelenting heat was worth it as long we beat the other team and didn’t get skin cancer. I was currently practicing with my softball team, doing the usual: hitting, catching balls, and getting yelled at by Coach every once in a while. However, under all that work, there was stress and worry, agonizingly present once we all stopped batting and throwing. Our overall season had been pretty successful. Our team bonded quickly, and over the course of time, we became almost like a second family. Family. That’s what our name was: Ohana. It means family in Hawaiian. This was my first season of softball. So far it was great, despite the occasional loss and having the ball land on your nose so that you ended up looking like Rudolph. This was to be our last practice together if we lost the game.  Too bad we were just too good. We wouldn’t lose. The coach blew the whistle (which I think sounds like a dying goose) and we were dismissed from practice. I swear I’ll wear sun block with SPF 50 next time.

     The day of the game came and searing heat greeted us. Summer is so overrated. It made me remember those days when I was three and still running around in my underwear, trying to keep cool. Those days are over now and here I was sweating like a pig in my softball uniform. I least I wore sun block this time.

     The field we got to play on was perfect, and the grass was soft and dewy. You could see that it had just been watered. When you stepped on the out field your feet would make indentations. The sunlight was reflected on the dewdrops and looked like diamonds had fallen on the field. It smelled like freshly mowed grass and the sun suddenly didn’t seem to be so bothersome. At first they were striking us out one by one. They were stepping and crushing our egos like we were little, tiny ants. Neither I nor my teammates  was about to accept this beating from the opposing team . We were fueled by our anger, and stepped out on the field to win. Soon enough we started striking them out and scoring. I was starting to get this excited, bubbly feeling in me. We won that game and we needed one more winning game to go on to represent our league. I was proud of my team and me. The coaches said that we hadn’t given it enough effort and that if we pushed ourselves harder we would be better. Part of me knew that was true but the other part was telling them to shut up and let us celebrate. We’d won after all. Right? That thought was like a little, pesky fly trying to poke at my brain and I was unable to swat it away. After the game, we saw a coach from the other team fighting with our coach. The other coach was accusing ours of “cheating.” I’m pretty sure we didn’t sweat buckets and waste all that sun block just because we were sitting there, not practicing. We’d won fair and square. I smiled my way through the next days, being abnormally cheery. However, my smile wavered at practice.

     It was cloudy that day. We’d started our drills and throwing. Coach dropped a bomb on us at the end of practice. Damn, that bomb reeked. It turns out coach had cheated.

     He said,“ Now, girls you know I’m an honest person, and that’s why I’m here. I’m your coach and you have to trust me.”

     We groaned and got up. I felt betrayed and mad at him that he could lie to us. The wind whistled loudly in my ears and it began to rain, the drops of water plummeting on the cement. How was I supposed to trust Coach now? Aren’t adults supposed to set an example  of integrity? I calmed down; questioning coach’s reasons wasn’t going to help at all. After softball practice was over, I got in the car and told my mom about the great news.

     They sent us an email telling us about what really happened. It was mostly about the two coaches from each team making a deal saying that one of our players (who happened to be one our best pitchers) couldn’t play at the game. However, coach had played her in the game. Therefore, that game could count as invalid, and we’d have to play another game, meaning more sweat and a waste of deodorant, which I was not willing to do. I raged and   blamed it all on Coach; I really thought coach was a genuinely honest person. It turned out I was wrong.   I tried to calm down again. I was really hoping they would count the first game.
    
     The next day we had another game. If we won this one and the other was counted in we would get to represent this league. The day was like any other, the sun shining and the air filled with anticipation. The smell of hot dog, popcorn, and bags of peanuts lingered in the air. Dogs were barking and families settling on the benches. We were warming up by throwing the balls to each other. It was relaxing. The game started off on the wrong foot. Our playing was distracted and with an abundance of mistakes everywhere. I thought we were going to lose. One third of the way through the game, one of us hit a home run. We were watching through the fence singing and cheering our hearts out when she hit the ball and it went over the fence. We screamed. Our confidence had just taken a couple of steps up. After that, we began focusing, hitting it off like it was none of their business and not letting the field’s lights blind us. After a while, we managed to beat the other team, again. Our crowd cheered.

     After the game, our team gathered around coach.

     “We still need to know if the other game counted. Congratulations on the game, but you could have done better at the start of the game though.” He announced.

   He was right.

     We found out through e-mail that our first game was valid and we were going on to represent our league in the city. I felt a rush of happiness and satisfaction as I finished reading. I decided to forgive coach for cheating. Adults aren’t perfect; they’re human and are bound to commit mistakes just like me. I could still look up to them, and focus on their good traits.  You shouldn’t put too much faith on perfection.

     Practice was the next day. This time we were focused on winning. Our goal clear, we practiced until we ached.

     When the game arrived, I knew we were bound to win.  The game started out decently,for we were winning by a few points. The opposing team struck us out another couple of times, nothing to worry about. Suddenly, their score started get higher and ours stayed the same. We were losing.

     In the end with all our effort and strive, I’m proud to say we lost. We got third place medals and I felt happy nevertheless. I didn’t realize that winning wasn’t everything right at that moment. But I thought about it. After a while I figured out that what I truly enjoyed about this softball season was being part of my team and becoming closer as friends and supporting each other.