THE FIRST LOSER

We did it, the G-Men, our softball team had made it to the championship game. We had beaten everyone at least once including the team we were meeting in the championship. After the first round victory just minutes earlier, we had a lot of confidence, we were loose and we were ready. This team was built to win a championship and we were one step away.

This was the best team I had been a part of. We had a solid core surrounded by more great players. We had no weaknesses. We had overcome adversity and redeemed our failures.

I walked to the mound, warmed up and couldn't wait. I had not played in a Sunday championship game in awhile. The last championship game I had played in ended in a devastating defeat with my brother's co-ed team. In warm-ups I knew I was on. I was hitting the curve, spotting every pitch, the knuckler had no movement. The first hitter lined one right back to me and I threw my glove at it and stabbed it. ONE OUT! A grounder was hit to third but the ball was overthrown, a rare error by our sure handed third baseman. I'm not exactly sure about the order, but I think the next guy grounded one to second and the throw to force the runner just barely pulls our shortstop off the bag. Still, none of us are worried. A couple hits later and another out, the inning is still going on.

This is still the top of the first. No need to worry. The next hitter grounds one to first, and I take off to cover, the ball glances of the first baseman's glove and I slow down to a stop, but our second baseman hustles to the ball. I try to take off again and a sudden painful pop hits the back of my right foot. I fall to the ground. I thought someone had threw a ball that hit my foot hard. I looked but I saw nothing. It felt like someone took a bat and swung it hard to the back of my foot. When I saw that no one had hit me, I knew what had happened. That pop was my achilles tendon. As I rolled on the ground, my team surrounded me with concerned faces. I couldn't look at them. I had my eyes closed and when I opened them, I would only look at my foot.

An old friend, who works as a nurse, comes to my aid. She tells me to stay down but I don't want to hear it. She puts her hand under my foot and tells me to push against her hand. She tells me to do it again. My heart is racing. She tells me to push her hand again, and I tell her I am. The whole team sees what is going on. They know I am done. But I don't want to believe it, I want to see if I could still pitch. I push myself up and try to get to the mound, but I am taken down by a teammate. He doesn't want me to injure myself further. This championship game was over for me and I couldn't help but cry.

The tears had nothing to do with pain. This was supposed to be my last game. We were supposed to win the championship and I was going to walk away from this game having accomplished everything. Carlo, a man I had coached in high school, an athlete that had so much respect for me, would say that his only goal in
softball is to put a team together to win a championship for me before I walk away. There were so many stories to this team. I wanted to win for all these guys that stuck by me. As much as they wanted it for me, I wanted it for all of them. We were truly a team of destiny. A dream had been crushed. We worked so hard for the last several months and one freak injury could ruin everything.

The G-Men are fighters, no member of this team would ever give up, but I felt the injury take the air out of the team. The team played on with me in the dugout. Our fans, consisting of friends and family, advised me to go to the ER. Everyone on my team came up to me to reassure me. I knew they were going to do everything they could to bring home the championship for me. My cousin and my brother carried me to my wife's car. And off we were to the emergency room with my sister and keith following along.

As the adrenaline from playing dissipates the pain escalates. I sit in the ER for hours. My wife gives me an update of the game and find out we are losing 12-5 in the sixth inning. I just start to pray, hoping for a comeback. Later, I hear my wife sigh. I ask her what happened. She tells me the final score. We lost 12-11. In that moment I feeldisappointment and pride. It hurt to know we lost, but I was so proud that our team fought back.

After the game ended I hear that many teammates have come to the waiting room. Still, I sit on a stretcher. I am given 2 vicodins and an 800 mg motrin. When I am about to get X-rayed there is a code blue. More waiting.

My brother comes in to visit me. Then I get the details of the loss. In the last inning the team had comeback to down three runs with two runners on and Will batting, he smokes one into the outfield with two outs. The two runners score easily and Will rounds third. He is coming home to tie the game. The relay is a good one, Will slides head first and he is tagged just inches in front of home plate. The game is over. Will just lies there face first for minutes. The other team exhaults and we are left with what ifs. The loss stings

My wife opens the door to the waiting room. And on crutches I step out and see a team of people that care for me. They had literally waited hours to see how I was doing, to talk to me. When I saw all those faces, looking at Gina, Macho, Keith, Derek, Mike, Johnny, Chmo, Joel, Sheena, Carlo, in that moment, I didn't feel defeated. Carlo told me that having to pitch after me was athletically the hardest thing he ever had to do. My injury actually brought him to tears and in seconds he had to compose himself and pitch in a championship game. The team said when I went down they just expected me to get back up like I had so many times. But when it hit them that I wasn't going to get up, they were shocked. Mike couldn't tell what happened but when he found out that it was me on the ground he hurt as much as I was. Johnny had just burried his face in his hands. Joel let me know that I am the gutsiest player that he had ever played with. The team told me that I was an inspiration. There was so much support, so many kind words. They were all there for me. The handshakes and the hugs meant so much. And as much as I was hurting, as devastated as I was about that loss, I knew I was not a loser. These teammates, these friends, this family, that was my trophy They are my championship.