Half Way
I used to make plays I wasn’t supposed to. It may have been my thing.
We’re not supposed to make stories around here… like, “it’s my thing to make plays I’m not supposed to” or “I’m a great 2 strike hitter” or “the outside pitch is not really my thang”… cause when we do, it seems that more often than not, we begin to live in to them (like we stop making plays we are supposed to… we put ourselves in the position to always be battling a risky 2 strike count… and then the outside pitch eats us alive. Every time.)
We don’t make stories cause it seems that our “thang” then becomes a self-confined box we put ourselves in. And endless possibilities don’t live there. But, since I’m now 4 years post- game… I’m going to simply make a factual observation:
I used to make plays I wasn’t supposed to.
I didn’t hit home runs, I didn’t break records and I was only “player of the week” once in my collegiate career. You may think that those are the types of plays and awards that one is “not supposed to make”… but that wasn’t the case for me. I’m not blessed with towering height— or mass to match. My specialty was the good ‘ol fashioned base hit to move the runner, double to score her… and my personal favorite- sacrifice bunt to set my team up to score. I made the everyday plays I was supposed to in the infield, and had my teammates back like there was no tomorrow… and then I made the plays I wasn’t.
The ‘without a doubt should’ve been a base hit or double through the infield’… but the ball actually landed in my glove instead… kind of plays.
Yes, I put in the work. Yes, I took extra repetitions after practice… everyday. Yes, we did countless footwork drills and thought of any and every possible option to teach angles, staying low, watching the ball all the way into our glove, and creating the right hop… but honestly, I don’t think those are the reasons I made those plays. Because at some point, believing that you can make them… trumps any drill or repetition that you’ll ever do.
It’s become my favorite thing in the world to watch a player make a diving catch. Or a play they have absolutely no business making. Because it’s not something you can teach. Fire. Relentlessness. Whole-hearted playing. An unwavering, unconditional belief that you’re possible... that you can... that you’re worthy of the moment…. that no circumstance stands a chance next to what’s inside of you.
It’s something someone has to choose.
So when I see these plays… that’s what I see. I see someone who makes an unreasonable commitment to the moment, and to everyone who is directly affected by it. I see someone who unapologetically decided that they were worth the opportunity to dance with greatness. I see someone who shows their gratitude for the blessing that they have to play— with their actions. And I see someone who decided they’d show up and give it all they had, to meet something bigger half way— and something bigger that showed up too.
I used to make the plays I wasn’t supposed to. And I think it’s because I simply believed I could.
But I also kinda think I wasn’t alone.