The white chalked batter’s box beside home
plate is a place most young ball players love
to go. From there, they smack the horsehide
 
ball over infielders who pivot to watch hitters
run the bases, scoring runs their teams need
to win. But there is always one guy who just
 
can’t hit the ball. He approaches home base
as though it were a landmine, swings and misses
or lets the strikes whiz past. Teammates swear
 
and look down the bench to figure out when
they will bat next. In his last at-bat in the
last game of the season, the hitless batter
 
trembles in the box and with his eyes closed
swings the bat like he’s sweeping the sky and
taps a slow roller that dribbles toward the
 
pitcher’s mound then starts his half-run to
first base. The pitcher stoops to stop the
ball and throws to first base for the out. The
 
batter skulks back to the dugout, terrified by
the silence as his mother shoots out of her seat
and shouts, He HIT the ball. He hit the BALL!

 
© by Ronald Lauderbach.
Used with the author’s permission.