How I Learned from My Failure

I do not remember the exact time when I started playing baseball. What I can recall is that I was not doing well by the time I was 14 years old. Anybody would think that after a decade of summer leagues, I should have improved my sporting skills. Besides I had two brothers and a cousin that were stars. Surely, I was supposed to have those champion skills as well, but it was not to be.  I did not lose hope anyway. I was still determined that one day I will prove the naysayers wrong. Some of the unique capabilities I had were being fast and swift on my feet and hands. If my elder brother threw a fastball towards me, I hit it four or three times out of ten. Anyway, nobody could scout me for college teams.

            Foxes was my summer team at that time. Not that Foxes was anything special: the team could only boast of two talented and pretty smart guys. Any other team member was just an average like. Indeed, we were a frustration to our coach. By a chance or a mere luck, we were nearly scrapping through the initial playoffs round. We had a single game to play standing between semi-finals and us. As predicted, the game came down to the final inning where the Foxes had players on the third and second base and two outs. Now, it was my turn at the bat. I had not thought earlier that the turnout of events would finally narrow down on me; it was like an event unfolding in a movie scene. A scrawny player that no one actually believes in miraculously hits a home run, resulting in a major tournament win to an underdog team hence becoming a legend in a local town. However, all last-minute hopes on me were quickly quashed when I had a miss during my third swing moment. I was sent back by the umpire to a dugout. ‘You are out – strike three!’ was all I heard.

            I got really angry. Of all the players, why me? I played my strike-out multiple times in my head as I tuned out consolation words from my parents. The subsequent days were filled with absolute mystery. I could lock myself in the house as I thought how the Foxes would have secured a league victory were it not for my blunder. Nobody, not even my parents could convince me that I was the cause for the terrible loss.

 A week passed. My friend and teammates invited me to a hangout at the park. I took a quick snap check to gauge my friends’ reactions to my early performance. To my surprise, no one seemed to be angry or mad at me. I had figured they had to be really disappointed that I lost a crucial game hence we could not make it to the semi-finals. When we split up for an impromptu game, it dawned on me that none of the team members were upset. In fact, they were charged to do better in future. The experience taught me a lesson: maybe I was pressurizing myself to live up to my brothers’ legacy or I gave in to the playoffs’ excitement. Either way, I lost sight on the core reason people play summer league baseball. It was not all about emerging as championship winners—it is the love for the game and fun that comes with it.