There I was, standing in my khaki pants with my bright purple Gopher Glove on, ready to dominate varsity softball. Sure I only played for a season in Middle School, and we lost every game, and maybe I didn’t even own softball pants, but this was going to be my year.

 Or so I thought. Soon enough, I found myself running a pathetically slow lap around Frank Field while declaring, “I’m done with this! I thought this would be easy and chill!” It was, in fact, not chill. I spent my first official practice peeling myself off the ground, asking “Wait, what are we doing?” and standing under a soccer goal to hide from the rain because apparently actual athletes play in the rain. Luckily, our coaches gave us the reprieve of meeting in a classroom to discuss our team goals. I rejoiced! They were just trying to scare us straight with all that practice stuff. This really will be chill, or so I thought again.

I truly hit rock bottom a week later when I walked onto the field in khakis and, worst of all, Converse. I did not think I was capable of becoming less athletic, but I like to defy the odds. Unfortunately, the entire team paid for my sins. We had to run three consecutive laps around the field, two of which were because of my wrong attire. Even worse was that I could not handle that much running, I was walking and panting a lap in. To my teammates, I extend my sincerest apologies. While I cursed at myself for forgetting my cleats and wished I brought my water bottle, I knew I needed to make a decision. I could give up and quit in disgrace, or I could commit and hope I improved. I figured, I had already bought the glove, I might as well stay. 

Finally, I wore the pants. It took days to find pants that fit properly and I went to Dick’s Sporting Goods at least three times in the span of a week. While I would have celebrated being in the correct uniform, I looked terrible in capris. Despite my unflattering outfit I was finally finding joy in the sport. I no longer stood around counting down the minutes for practice to end.I actually was starting to enjoy softball. I was learning to throw, could at least bat without striking out, and now I had the pants! Nothing was going to stop me. 

Eventually, the dreaded first game of the season arrived. I spent the entire time stir-crazy in the dugout. I quickly learned, the term “benched” was frankly inaccurate because we were not allowed to sit. Instead we spent the game pressed against the fence cheering for our team. “Perfect! I don’t have to play!” I thought joyfully as the coaches read the line up, which didn’t include my name. As I was standing in the sun trying to follow along with a game I barely understood, I got tired. By the fifth inning I was practically clawing at the bars begging my coaches to let me play. I wasn’t going to survive another off-tempo cheer. 

The rest of the season has not gotten any better. I am two months into my softball season and the most playing time I had was playing in one full inning. It would be funny if it was not so pathetic. The coaches love to talk about how “competent” we all are and claim they are not “hiding” anyone but I think that is a lie. Personally, I feel pretty hidden in the shade of the dugout. I understand why the coaches are scared to play me considering I’m scared of the ball and running the bases, but at some point it gets frustrating. I believe letting me play an inning or two isn’t going to make us lose any more than usual. 

Just like Jojo Siwa rising to newfound fame upon releasing Karma, it was my time to shine. Allow me to paint a picture for you: I’m walking through the commons enjoying my daily snack when my softball coach and physical education teacher, Karen Hanselman catches my eye. “Today is your big debut!” she declared excitedly. I immediately shoot into the air squealing. By lunch I had alerted the whole team of this life changing development. As the hours counted down to our game, I became progressively more anxious.  My time has come to show off what two months of softball practice gets you. What if I can’t play at all? What if I strike out, fall on my face on the way back into the dugout, or get pooped on by a bird?

Before the game started, I found myself rooting through my backpack for my bright blue pen, much to the confusion of my teammates. A simultaneous sound of understanding rang through the dugout as I began to write notes for myself about how to run the bases and field balls. I meant business. The coaches were not going to regret putting me in. Unfortunately, they in fact did regret it. Within the first two innings I forgot balls thrown foul are still live and stood around in right field while the team screamed at me to “hustle” and “get the ball.” 

I was promptly pulled out of the game and spent the next few innings back in the humble dugout. I’m not going to lie. It stung, real bad. I was so bad at softball I couldn’t make it through two innings! I felt like a total loser moping on the bench. Thankfully, my coaches decided to give me another chance, and I was sent back out to finish the game on the field. I learned then that a good majority of softball is standing around waiting for balls to be hit towards you which unfortunately for me, did not happen often. I was shaken from my trance by a bright yellow ball hurtling towards me down the field. Past the pitcher, past first base, past second, it then dawned on me that this was my moment. I reached down, put my glove on the ground, and prayed that somehow the ball would roll into it. Miraculously it did, I looked down and the ball was safely wedged in my glove. Unfortunately I was so focused on catching the ball, I forgot about throwing it. As I looked up in a panic, I locked eyes with the second baseman and threw the ball as hard as I could praying it would reach her. I was so nervous I closed my eyes, I couldn’t bear to watch it fall to the ground and roll to her. 

I opened my eyes to applause and cheers surrounding me, I had made my first ever softball play. In that moment, it didn’t matter if I struck out or tripped on my way into the dugout because I was finally a real softball player. All my hard work over the last two months was worth it because I had finally contributed to the team. I could finally call myself a varsity softball player.