Knocked Out
Sometimes life can knock you right out.
In a moment's time you go from giving the pitch to lying flat on your back. You go from seeing clearly to seeing nothing but the inside of your eye lids. You didn't ask for it. You didn't go looking to start trouble. But the trouble somehow found you and got ya right in the place that would try to take you down for the count.
I know what this feels like. I know what it looks like to have it coming straight at you.
I was only maybe 12 years old when the softball coach saw I had a pretty good arm. So she started to groom me to be one of the team's pitchers. I wasn't her fastest pitcher, but I had a pretty good eye and aim for the catcher's mitt, and she knew accuracy was just as important as speed.
I can honestly say that I really enjoyed being on the mound. I loved the idea that everything generated from that spot. It was the starting point from which everything else would happen in those nine innings. And I came to realize the importance of my position. I was only one of two pitchers on the team. I wasn't easily replaceable. A game could easily be sabotaged if the pitchers were out of commission. How could it move forward if the pitcher was incapacitated? In one particular game, we were all about to find out.
It was maybe the 3rd inning. I can't recall if we were winning or losing. But I do recall feeling strong and focused. I really wasn't very athletic by nature, but being on the mount made me feel like I could actually contribute something to the team. And that is how I felt this particular day. I could see my mom in the stands cheering me on. I could feel the confidence the coach had in me. And I could feel the acceptance of my peers/fellow ballplayers. The sun was shining. It was a beautiful day.
I took the ball, held it deep within my glove, then whipped my arm around, and released the pitch. It was smooth and perfect and the batter knew it. I can still see her in my mind's eye, as if in slow motion, as her eyes focused in on the target, her body leaning back, and her bat taking advantage of the moment. CRACK! The bat rang out as it violently made contact with the ball. It is the last thing I remember hearing as everything went dark.
The next thing I knew, my coach was lifting my head and saying my name. I was dazed and confused.
"What happened?" I asked, trying to focus on the concerned faces looking at me.
"You got the wind knocked right out of ya, kid." the coach said.
And then I remembered. The ball took a straight shot from the batter's bat to the center of my chest. It knocked me so hard that I didn't even remember hitting the ground. I was immediately unconscious.
This is about how it feels when life hits hard. You don't have time to even dodge it. It comes at ya straight on and shows no mercy. It takes no prisoners as it knocks the wind right out of ya and leaves you unconscious in the dirt.
But as you open your eyes, you are immediately forced to make a decision. Are you going to let that one ball take you down for good? Are you going to just give up, right there and then? Are you going to let that be your last pitch? The one that took you down?
Hopefully not. A true player never forfeits that easily. Yes, he may need to take some time in the dugout to catch his breath. He may need a moment to find rest, healing, and clarity. But that does not mean his game is over forever. There are other games waiting for him. And they are winning games, for sure! So long as he doesn't give up.
In a moment's time you go from giving the pitch to lying flat on your back. You go from seeing clearly to seeing nothing but the inside of your eye lids. You didn't ask for it. You didn't go looking to start trouble. But the trouble somehow found you and got ya right in the place that would try to take you down for the count.
I know what this feels like. I know what it looks like to have it coming straight at you.
I was only maybe 12 years old when the softball coach saw I had a pretty good arm. So she started to groom me to be one of the team's pitchers. I wasn't her fastest pitcher, but I had a pretty good eye and aim for the catcher's mitt, and she knew accuracy was just as important as speed.
I can honestly say that I really enjoyed being on the mound. I loved the idea that everything generated from that spot. It was the starting point from which everything else would happen in those nine innings. And I came to realize the importance of my position. I was only one of two pitchers on the team. I wasn't easily replaceable. A game could easily be sabotaged if the pitchers were out of commission. How could it move forward if the pitcher was incapacitated? In one particular game, we were all about to find out.
It was maybe the 3rd inning. I can't recall if we were winning or losing. But I do recall feeling strong and focused. I really wasn't very athletic by nature, but being on the mount made me feel like I could actually contribute something to the team. And that is how I felt this particular day. I could see my mom in the stands cheering me on. I could feel the confidence the coach had in me. And I could feel the acceptance of my peers/fellow ballplayers. The sun was shining. It was a beautiful day.
I took the ball, held it deep within my glove, then whipped my arm around, and released the pitch. It was smooth and perfect and the batter knew it. I can still see her in my mind's eye, as if in slow motion, as her eyes focused in on the target, her body leaning back, and her bat taking advantage of the moment. CRACK! The bat rang out as it violently made contact with the ball. It is the last thing I remember hearing as everything went dark.
The next thing I knew, my coach was lifting my head and saying my name. I was dazed and confused.
"What happened?" I asked, trying to focus on the concerned faces looking at me.
"You got the wind knocked right out of ya, kid." the coach said.
And then I remembered. The ball took a straight shot from the batter's bat to the center of my chest. It knocked me so hard that I didn't even remember hitting the ground. I was immediately unconscious.
My coach sat me up on the dusty mount and said, "You don't have to keep going."
I thought for a moment, took a deep breath, and said, "I don't want to give up."
***
This is about how it feels when life hits hard. You don't have time to even dodge it. It comes at ya straight on and shows no mercy. It takes no prisoners as it knocks the wind right out of ya and leaves you unconscious in the dirt.
But as you open your eyes, you are immediately forced to make a decision. Are you going to let that one ball take you down for good? Are you going to just give up, right there and then? Are you going to let that be your last pitch? The one that took you down?
Hopefully not. A true player never forfeits that easily. Yes, he may need to take some time in the dugout to catch his breath. He may need a moment to find rest, healing, and clarity. But that does not mean his game is over forever. There are other games waiting for him. And they are winning games, for sure! So long as he doesn't give up.
Comments