The Franklin Fighter

The Franklin Fighter

          It was the bottom of the 9th inning, to what would be the biggest year for the 'Franklin Fighter's', baseball team. They had never been in a championship game, so even if they lost, making it was quite an accomplishment. There were two outs, a man on first, and up to bat was Chris Collins. As he strolled to the plate, he glanced up at his father in the stands. He knew along with his father, the team only had him left to depend on, since they were down by one run. If he could get at least a double, and bring in the man on first, the game would be tied, and extend to an extra inning. Chris was not an ordinary batter. Only a certain couple pitchers were able to strike him out, and the guy on the mound, Mike King, knew he wasn't one of them. He thought, if he could get him to hit the ball infield somehow, this game would be over, and the 'Bolton Baller's', would take home the trophy.

         The sun was set behind the pine tree woods, and would be in nobody's peripheral vision. Especially, if there were a high fly. However, the stadium was pandemonium, the crowd on their feet, and both dugouts had something to cheer. In the Baller's dugout, they were yelling, Let's go Miiiike, Let's go, followed by helmets slamming the bench with a triple beat, in unison. On the Fighter's side, something totally different. See, Chris Collins had been given a nickname, at the beginning of the year, after his first seven hits resulted in home runs, and most of the time following that, he always got a hit of some sort. The Fighter's hoped at this moment, that luck would continue. As soon as the Baller's cheered their cheer, the Fighter's shouted out theirs. Let's go Killer, Let's go, boom, boom, boom.

         The cheers seemed to be more entertaining, than the game itself. Chris stepped up to the plate. He tapped each cleat with his bat, prior to getting in his stance. He adjusted his helmet, and Mike King adjusted his cap. King then turned around, and waved the outfield, to go further back, just in case. He then took his own stance, at the mound. The catcher behind the plate, fingered a signal. King shook his head, back and fourth. Then a second signal, and again King shook his head. Finally, the pitcher and the catcher agreed on one. King looked to first base, attempting to determine, if the runner was trying to advance. He was not. This game had become way too important, to lose by trying to steal second. The runner stood his ground. King's eyes finally focused on the plate. He wound up, and threw the first pitch. Killer, did not swing at this one. The ball went outside, but still managed to go over the strike zone. The umpire called strike one, lifting his arm, with a closed fist. Collins shook his head, and King smiled at him. He pointed two fingers at the batter, as if he were trying to intimidate him. Collins took a step back, readjusted his helmet again, and stepped back to the plate. For the second pitch, King chose a curve ball. Collins connected, but it ended up going foul, behind him, striking the backstop fence. The umpire called out, strike two. Collins had one more chance, to make something happen. He felt his nerves twitching, and anxiety rushed over him. King sensed his nervousness, and yelled over to Collins, with cockiness. " What's up Killer. You ready for me to sit you down?" Collins stepped away from the plate again, and looked up at his dad in the stand again. His dad was pointing towards the outfield, as if to say, Knock it out of the park son. This time as he strolled to the plate, he pointed the bat towards center field, like 'The Babe', used to do, right before he hit a home run. His dad's confidence transformed inside of him. Collins took his stance, and smiled big for King, and he nodded at him. King lifted his left leg, following through with a fastball, hoping it would be too much for even Collins to connect with. King was wrong. Collins swung through. Crack! The ball soared high, only it went to right field as opposed to center. The right fielder was in the right place, since he advanced back, at King's leadership. However, even though the outfielder jumped as high as he could, he just wasn't tall enough, and the ball soared like an eagle, into the tall pine trees. The game was over. The Franklin Fighters rushed home plate to congratulate the MVP, and Collins was carried around on one of his players shoulders, as he swung his helmet around in the air. King walked around with his head lowered, just as the rest of his team did, as they formed a line to slap hands with the Fighters, and say, Good Game. Coach Andrews ran up to Collins with the gold trophy and said, "Look what you did Killer. I knew you had it in you." Collins smiled cheek to cheek, and he stood waiting for his father to arrive. When he finally did, he hugged his son, and told him how proud he was of him. " What if I had struck out dad?" His dad held him by the shoulders. He said ,"Son, I would have still been proud. You had a great season, win or lose. And It's not the win I'm proud about. I'm proud that you didn't give up."
"Thanks, dad. So, that means were going for ice cream right?" His dad laughed.
" You better believe it."

          A year later, Chris Collins was stricken with cancer, and he died slowly by his parents side, in a hospital bed in Boston. He was only Seventeen. Before closing his eyes for good, he told his Mom and Dad that he loved them, and not to feel sad. "We all have to die sometime, guys. This is just my time, that's all. We will be together again, just in a better place." His parents couldn't hold back their tears. They weren't ready to live without him. His Mother said, "How did you become so strong Chris?" Chris immediately pointed his arm towards his Dad. " Because I had a Father who never gave up on me." He then pointed at Mom. "And you. Anyone lucky enough to have their Guardian Angel in their corner, is destined to be strong. So please Mom and Dad, be strong with me." "Okay Chris,-- We will." The End.