Which Life? Land or Sea

Ch. 1

Silly Notions

"It's the bottom of the ninth. Two out and the bases are loaded! Last up to bat is the Bronx Bombers very own Felicity O'Connor and the crowd is going wild," blared the announcer above the roar of the crowd.

"This rookie has really been a spark plug this season, Bill."

"She sure has, Reggie. O'Connor has been with the Bombers for only a year now and has managed to turn this team around! Now they've come to win it all today at the World Series."

"A winning run would complete the list of incredible accomplishments this young woman has achieved this season."

"No doubt, she's the first woman ever to play in the major leagues. Looks like the manager took a risk and it paid off."

"That's right, Reggie. He got his gold at the end of the rainbow. Couldn't we all use a little bit of the luck he's been getting lately?"

An anxious hush falls over the crowd. This last batter could end the season. "O'Connor's outside the batter's box staring down Contreras."

"And here she comes, stepping up to the plate to break the five-five tie. Warming up the ball, ready to pitch is none other than Juan Contreras. The Sox paid handsomely for Contreras. They call him the King of Diamonds, Bill. And he's being paid like a king, signing a three-year deal for $64,000,000."

"I can see why. He has a wicked fastball topping 101 mph that has put many teams away for the season."

The field is nothing but a sea of green as I step up to the plate with my lucky bat. The dirt shifts beneath my feet as the sun beats down against my skin. I tune out the "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" music and the crowd's chatter. I can smell the hot dogs and popcorn wafting from the vendors above. This is it, my moment to shine. I feel the weight of every female baseball player in the world settle on my shoulders. I position myself in the batter's box, eager to hit the ball, eager to prove myself. I scan the outfield with a batter's eye spotting Sweeny, Smith and Anderson in the outfield with Terrero positioned at shortstop.

I remember my first home game on this field. My first at-bat in major league baseball was a pop fly. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, I smacked myself in the face with the bat and had a black eye for weeks. It seems like so long ago. No one laughs at me anymore, especially when I tomahawk the ball.

Konerko on first base could be an issue. I have to make sure the ball doesn't get anywhere near him. I wasn't about to make that mistake twice. Richard on second base has never dropped a ball under pressure. Slip one by him and I'm home free. Ozuna is a tricky one on third base. He's unpredictable. I let out a deep breath. I haven't been this nervous since I began practicing with the Bombers. My hands tighten their hold on the bat as I reposition myself and adjust my helmet. Sweat trickles down my back. Soon, all they will see is the back of my jersey, number 21 etched in their minds forever.

"Here comes the pitch."

The crowd is silent. All eyes are on Contreras as he winds up and delivers a textbook slider.

"Striiiiike one!"

"Tough break for O'Connor, Bill. What a whiff, she's going all out in this cracker box."

"Could the pressure finally be getting to her, Reggie? Contreras has been a thorn in her side since the Sox picked him up. Seems like bad blood between the two."

"O'Connor shakes it off and settles back into her unorthodox slouch. Juan has the ball in his mitt, his cannon of an arm at the ready, searching out home plate to throw the red and white leather."