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, the whole reason I was chosen to play baseball being born on May 11th. I looked up at him and replied “happy birthday to you too man.” It was the whole team’s birthday; in fact, it was every baseball player across the nation’s birthday today. My parents, since I was born were telling me I was the saving grace of our family. Since I was chosen to play baseball from birth, I was going to earn the highest salary of any profession in the country due to getting the rarest job. My father was born in the first week of November which meant that he was chosen to become a baker while my mom was born in August destining her to become a teacher. James’s parents were luckier, being born at the end of December meant that they were chosen to both be lawyers. This meant he didn’t have the immense pressure I did 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 become homeless like all the other. 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. We had been doing the same routine for the last 8 or more years of our lives so at this point we didn’t even have to think or count out our exercises. Every kid from the ages of five to ten went to the elementary school of their sector. At age eleven everyone went to a specific school designed for their profession. For us athletes it was slightly different because at age fourteen we were sent to another specific school to focus on the position we were best suited for. I was sent to the Koufax School of pitching to become a starting pitcher with everyone else there. All the baseball academies are in the Northern sector where on May first the managers of the four teams show up to scout and draft us. I was supposedly lucky to be drafted by the Northern Yetis, being the most successful team historically and recently. They’ve won 19 championships including the first one ever. We were looking to win our fifth in a row and twentieth overall while it also being the 50th anniversary of the league. I didn’t have time to think about being future champs, the game started at seven p.m., and it was currently 6:30. We were the last game of the day and 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 the 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 had already worn off. He gave me first pitch fastball low and away. I get set and fired, 97 miles per hour straight into the ground, the crowd booed as the batter laughed at me. As I got a new ball I 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 out and got the side out. 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. The top of the ninth inning came up and as I was sitting on the bench my coach came up to me and yelled “What the hell are you doing get the hell out there?” I looked at him confused as normally in the ninth the closer comes out to shut the team down. I did find it odd that no reliever came in for the 7th and 8th, but I figured it was due to my low pitch count. He leaned in and whispered, “Boy you got a perfect game going so you’re going to go out there and finish this.” I was completely in shock, I hadn’t realized the other team hadn’t had a baserunner all game. I quickly put my glove and cap on and raced out there.

Nothing felt real, this was every pitcher’s dream and it was happening to me. 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, 106 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 runner 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. 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 came set and fired 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 and we went down in order to end the game.

We lost 3-2 for the tenth straight opening day loss in a row and it was all my fault. I went back to the rotation dorm and went to sleep without changing or showering. I woke up and something was blocking my eyes. As I lifted it up I felt all the shame in the world as I read the pink slip.