Adam Cichetti
Eng 170-29 Camilleri
9/15/23
Narrative Essay
The Perfect Game

I woke up inside of the stadium of the Northern Yetis. It was the opening day of the 50th baseball season and I was set to make my debut as the brand-new starting pitcher. As I looked across my room, I could see that my roommate, James, was already up and getting ready. As he looked up, he exclaimed “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” I had forgotten what today was. Since I was born 18 years ago on the NBL opening day, my parents have been telling me I was going to be a baseball star, and I was going to pull the family out of poverty. My father was a baker while my mother was a teacher meaning they could barely afford to raise my family. James’s parents were both lawyers which meant he didn’t have the immense pressure I had to succeed, if he didn’t make it to the majors, he would just live off his parents’ money the rest of his life while if I failed, I’d probably become homeless. We slept in the same dorm last night as we are running out as the battery today, but after the game I’ll head to the dorm where the rest of the rotation sleeps while James gets a new roommate. We both went up to the field where the rest of the team was waiting to start our daily stretches and warmups. Being on this team was a huge honor as they’ve won 19 championships including the first one. We were looking to win our fifth in a row and twentieth overall while it also being the 50th anniversary of the league. Our game started at seven p.m. and was the last game of the day, while also being the most anticipated. We had lost every opening day for the past nine years straight against the Southern Hornets, our fiercest rivals. The Eastern and Western teams played earlier at 1 pm and while they are rivals, it doesn’t compare to the hatred between the north and the south.

As the game began nothing special happened in the first inning while we hit, this was expected as we were considered a pitching team. I walked out to the mound in the bottom of the first for my first ever game. I looked at James and he looked as comfortable as ever, he has already been doing this for 2 years already, so his nerves have worn off. He gave me first pitch fastball low and away. I got set and fired, 97 miles per hour straight into the ground, the crowd booed as the batter laughed at me. I got a new ball and reset myself, every pitch is different from the last so why let it affect me. I fired again this time painting the corner for a called strike. I eventually struck him and the side out and before I knew it, it was the ninth inning. We were winning 2-0 off a solo shot from James and a single that drove me in. I ran back out to the mound to end the game while looking at the scoreboard. I hadn’t allowed a single hit, let alone a single baserunner throughout the entire game, I was perfect.

It was every pitcher’s dream to throw a perfect game and I was about to in my debut. I got to the mound and took my sign from James and threw a slider low and away, causing an off-balance swing from the batter. The next pitch was a curveball that caused the batter to flinch but dropped in the zone last second. My next pitch was 99 miles per hour at the upper corner. As I watched the batter swing and miss, I felt a feeling I had never felt before flow through my veins I struck out the next guy on three straight breaking balls all generating swings and misses. As the final batter came to the plate, I realized that not only was I about to throw a perfect game but also an immaculate inning. I fired two curveballs immediately, creating one swing and one duck. It was time for my final pitch. I came set on the mound and fired the fastest pitch in the history of the sport, 105 miles per hour right down the middle. How could I be so stupid. He swung and barely made contact. The ball rolled in front of the plate while me and James both charged at it not realizing the other was doing the same. We collided and the batter was able to make it to first. I felt an enormous sense of guilt wash over my body, if I hadn’t run for the ball James would’ve easily thrown him out at first to end the game. I went back to the mound where my coach came out and let me know he was leaving me in, hoping I could still salvage a no-hitter from the mess. I got back on the mound and recomposed myself. I spiked my next pitch to the leadoff batter just as I had done on my first pitch of the game. The runner made it to second but that didn’t matter if I got this guy out. Next pitch was meant to be a curveball, but it didn’t curve, it hit the batter right in the back allowing him to take first. I looked at the dugout and my coach nodded at me, if I had the no-hitter going, he would leave me in. The next batter to come to the plate wasn’t one I had seen before. I felt shaky, like the whole country was watching, and they were. I came set and James gave me fastball low. I fired my slowest pitch, 90 miles per hour. I was tired, I had lost my adrenaline and my sloppy pitching had shown that. I missed my location and sent it down the middle of the plate. I could see the batter’s eyes light up as he swung and crushed the ball 435 feet over the right field wall. I felt dead, I couldn’t move. I had gone from one strike away from going down in history to being the biggest letdown ever. As the runner circled the bases my coach waited at the top of the steps to pull me out. He put in the closer who shut the next batter down on three pitches. After such a punch to the gut none of us were ready to hit as we went down in order to end the game.

We lost 3-2 for the tenth straight opening day in a row. Nothing in my life had ever been such a disappointment as today. As I headed back to my dorm, I felt I wasn’t going to last long on this team.