I was ten years old, playing little league baseball. Early in the season I was in a league in which I was near the top of the age bracket, and thus one of the biggest, strongest, and best players. But someone figured out my birthday was just over the cutoff, so I got moved suddenly to the next higher age bracket, which made me one to two years younger than most other players. The coach and other players didn’t know me and I seemed small and thin, so I was left on the bench nearly all the time, never even getting a chance to find out how well I could play or learn anything.
On the last game of the season two players on our team collided and were injured, so I was put in the outfield. In the last inning with two outs and the bases loaded the ball was hit into the gap between me and the right-fielder. It was a long hit and was clearly going to be a home run. But I knew the instant the ball left the bat that I would catch it. I ran hard to the spot the ball was headed, stretched hard and got it, barely managing to keep my balance. I was actually surprised to see the ball was hanging precariously at the end of my glove; I had nearly missed it.
I was even more surprised to see all my teammates running towards me as I left the field, cheering me and patting me on the back. The coach from the other team came over to our dugout, congratulated me, and said it was the best catch he had ever seen in his life. Even my coach had a good word for me. Years later, after that season had been forgotten, people would still occasionally meet me and say, “Hey, you’re the kid who made that amazing catch!”
It’s funny – even though I was only ten, I still feel good when I think about that catch.
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