Angela, Part 1...the baseball game

Angela, Part 1


The late afternoon sun was warm in the motionless air. Not a hint of a breeze would take pity on the baseball players perspiring under their heavy uniforms. Angela, the Tiger’s star pitcher and the only girl on the team stood on the pitcher’s mound looking defiantly at the waiting batter, contemplating her next pitch

Only her long orangey-red hair tied behind her head in pony tail fashion with a rubber band, gave hint that she was a girl. The sweat dripping down from her peaked cap onto her face further darkened the already deep tan of her abundantly freckled face. Even with her cap pulled down on her head, you could see the small upturned nose, which gave her a sly impish look as she looked contemptiously at the batter. The loose bulky fitting uniform hardly gave evidence of her growing maturity. Though, if one looked close, he could just barely make out the small mounds jutting out across the lettering of her uniform. Yet she was tall for her 12 years, and she looked as a baseball pitcher should, lean with long ungainly arms that could throw a baseball faster than anyone on her team or any other team in her league.

“All right Angie, you going to pitch to me or not,” called the impatient batter. “I’ll pitch to you when I’m good and ready,” retorted Angela, sticking her tongue out at the batter, then calling to her first baseman, “hey Jimmy, watch that guy on first, he’s taking too much of a lead.” “Don’t worry about it,” replied Jimmy confidently. “He ain’t goin nowhere.”

Stepping on the pitchers rubber, Angela nodded approval of the signal from the catcher. With a warning glance at the runner taking a short lead from first base, she started her slow deliberate wind-up. Rearing back, her entire weight on her right leg, her left leg high in the air; her whole body in unison and with form and grace befitting a major League pitcher, she delivered the pitch; the ball travelling towards the batter with speed that belied her sex and age.

“Ball two,“ bellowed the umpire, as the ball hit the dirt in front of the batter, allowing the ball to escape to the safety screen back of home plate. The runner on first base advancing to second. “For crying out loud!” yelled Angela sarcastically to the catcher, “can’t you even catch a simple one like that?” “Ball two, strike two, and two out,” called the umpire before the surprised boy could respond to Angela’s outburst. “Play ball.” Stepping again on the rubber, Angela delivered the next pitch to the batter. “Ball three.” Called the umpire, as the ball narrowly missed the plate. “Whatcha mean ball? That was right over the plate.” Ignoring Angela’s remarks, the umpire’s only response was: “Three balls, two strikes, play ball.”

“Okay,Angie,” taunted the batter. “let’s see you get one over the plate.” “All right, you stupid jerk, you’re not even going to see the next one.” Angela replied. Then turning around, she called to her outfield player’s, “Okay fella’s take it easy out there. This is going to be an easy out.” The ball started to curve as it left Angela’s hand, heading straight for the batter, then suddenly veering towards the plate as it neared its destination. The boy was ready for the pitch, somehow knowingly of its intended flight. Stepping forward, he swung at the ball. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind where the ball was going as the bat met the ball in a thunderous bang. All eyes lifted skyward to follow its journey as it sailed, first over the infield, then the outfield and finally over the fence in center field for a home run.

The game was over. Angela’s team had lost. Her long ungainly arms hanging limply at her sides, her head bowed as she walked slowly to her dugout. The tears swelling in her eyes, dripped down her face onto her all ready sweat drenched uniform. She approached her manager and in a tearful whimsical voice, quite unlike that of a few minutes ago said: “I’m sorry Dad, I guess I blew it.” Putting his arms around his daughters shoulder, the manager wiped away Angela’s tears with his handkerchief, and in a consolable voice said, “ Don’t worry honey, we’ll get them some other time.

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to be continued




Original stories written, published and copyrighted by Joey Adelman. (c) 1970-1999. If you would like to use something, please email for permission.