The Homerun

On a hot August afternoon I strode to the plate to face the most feared pitcher in the entire roster of the South Side Little League. His name was Kenny Gunderman. Kenny was abnormally large for his age and it was rumored that he and his parents had fudged
his age on the application form. When his fast balls went by , you could feel the wind and the sound of the ball hitting the catcher's clove could be heard for blocks.

Kenny played
for the Ice House Restaurant and I played for Hans-Burkhardt Drugstore and our respective teams had battled neck and neck all season long. We were tied in the standings and today was the pivotal game that would decide the championship of the
South Side Little League. As I came to the plate it was Ice House - 7 and Hans-Burkhardt - 3. It was the bottom of the fifth and we only played six innings, so time was waning to mount a comeback. Although we had hit up Kenny for some runs, his
aura of invincibility remained. Our pitcher had not been so lucky. The Ice House hitters had spanked his pitches all over the park. If not for the good defensive play of his teammates the score might have been even more lopsided than it was. But we were still within striking distance.

I represented the tying run. As the inning began our eighth and ninth place hitters had promptly struck out, but are lead off hitter Bret Beasley smacked a single in to left field.
Mark Stapleton then hit a sharp rounder through the middle. I took a few more practice
swings with the leaded bat, and picked up my favorite Louisville Slugger and walked to the plate. Kenny Gunderman looked down at me from the mound imperiously. I was not an imposing figure at the plate. I was scrawny and wore wire rim glasses. My jersey
hung limply from my shoulders and I resembled a scarecrow wearing a baseball cap. I was a singles and doubles hitter. Hitting for power was not my specialty.
Kenny Gunderman had little to fear and he knew it. He took some signs from his catcher
as a formality because we all knew what was coming, a fastball. Kenny
reared back and let lose a wicked fast ball over the outside corner of the plate. "Strike
one,” said the umpire. The next pitch was a ball. Kenny followed that with another
fastball that I fouled off into the back stop. With the count one and two I knew that I
would have to bear down if I wanted stay alive. I fouled off his next pitch and then
Kenny threw two balls. With a full count I dug in at the plate as Kenny started his wind up the pitch was a high fast ball out over the plate. I was not sure if it was in the strike zone or not but with a full count I could not let it pass. I swung the bat through the plate and my bat hit the ball solidly but slightly underneath. It felt
good as the ball jumped off the bat but I was afraid I had just hit a long fly ball. I sprinted out of the batter’s box to first without bothering to look for the flight of the ball. As I rounded first I looked up and saw a small pill going over the right field
fence and the right fielder throwing down his glove in dismay. I trotted around second
hardly believing what had just happened. I rounded third and headed for
home. My teammates were there to greet me and we celebrated a bit before
heading back to the dugout. As I made my way to my place on the bench
I stole a glance back at Kenny Gunderman he had a look of shock and
disbelief. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He was a
beaten man or boy as it were. His aura of invincibility was gone. Goliath
had fallen and the rest of the little Davids wanted in on the action. The end was a foregone conclusion. We scored four more runs that inning before the blood bath ended with a pop fly.
Ice House went down meekly 1-2-3 in the top of the sixth and the game was over.
I never forgot that home run. Singular events are rarely forgotten. In times of stress and tension I always have this childhood incident to look back on. It has provided relief in times of darkness
and motivation to continue when the odds seen insurmountable. A memory of one shinning moment can last a lifetime and provide a spark that lights flame that guides through both good and bad. May every child be so fortunate to have their own Kenny Gunderman to defeat and a home run to hit.