Chapter 6: Perfect Game

https://activ8athleticism.com/blog/next-level-softball-pitching/

“How did you learn to crack backs?” Toni asks in the locker room before the game at James Madison University.

“I was the first girl on the Jeff Davis wrestling team,” Cat Kent answers while hooking Toni’s arms from behind and leaning her back over a knee.

“Ahhh, there’s only one thing better,” laughs Toni, “and it’s not chocolate.”

“I’m next,” pleads Shawna, her left shoulder wrapped in a heating pad.

“We’ll run the spine for my pitcher,” answers Cat, grasping Shawna’s crossed elbows and arching backward to lift her with a belly bounce. “Scholarships schmolarships, now you’re ready for that D1 lineup.”

“You’ve got a fan in high places,” Coach Q calls, tossing each girl a new black visor ordered by President Caine.

Jo passes out sticks of Big Red as they walk from the field house into the midday haze rising off the artificial turf. Chuwee, chuwee cheer a pair of bluebirds skirting past as Shawna warms up in the visiting bullpen.

__________

After the game at Washington & Lee, I’d been given permission to ride home in Burkhardt’s big green Plymouth instead of the team bus.

“Burkhardt, pull over and I’ll grab that statue for the Belles Ball!” Quinn cried, pointing to a groomed Lexington lawn.

He hopped out in the growing dusk and walked nonchalantly across the yard. When beside the small statue of a man holding up a lantern, he quickly reached down and tucked it under his arm, hustling back and falling into the passenger seat as Burkhardt peeled out through the residential neighborhood.

Soon we were cruising down interstate 64 with the little man strapped in the middle of the bench seat and a case of Rolling Rock between Quinn’s feet.

“We’ll paint his face and hands black!” he plotted, twisting off the cap of a little green bottle and passing it over to Burkhardt.

“Might that African-American servant image turn-off some of our guests?” Burkhardt asked from behind the wheel as he took a swig of the bittersweet lager.

“That blind piano player will hardly see it,” Quinn reasoned. “What do you suppose, Januzzi?” he asked, handing back a bottle over his left shoulder.

“You never know who might take offense,” I answered.

“I was thinking of asking Jo Collins,” blurted Burkhardt.

“She’ll never go with you after that tactless duet at the oyster roast,” Quinn quipped.

“I sat with her in Organic Chem and she apologized for running out on us,” I chipped in.

“Hey!” Quinn enthused, polishing off a bottle and tossing it out the window. “Minus the confederate symbols, the Belles Ball becomes just a regular old costume ball.”

“Why don’t we show them some real southern hospitality and invite the whole campus?” Burkhardt continued. “Hey Quinn, can the grenades, will you?”

“Change comes hard in the South,” he answered, “but maybe the time has come.”

__________

“Three up,” calls Jo from out in centerfield as Shawna warms up to face the Madison lineup in the bottom of the seventh inning.

“Three down,” respond the rest of the players at their positions.

“Three up,” Jo calls out again.

“Three down,” they all answer.

“Three up, three down, pass it all around,” sings the whole team.

“Three up,” Jo begins again.

“Quit jinxing her!” shouts Coach Q to stop the cheer. To those of us on the bench, he adds “Just one more inning in one more game of a long season.”

It’s the bottom of the seventh and the scoreboard reads two outs, no runs, and no hits for JMU, no errors for us, and no walks for Shawna – a perfect game with one out to go. She brushes her blond locks under her visor and steps to the rubber, staring over the top of her glove at Cat squatting behind the plate. Our catcher flashes a single finger down and then points it up and toward the left handed batter’s head to signal a fastball high and tight. Shawna nods and steps back into her windup. The hitter steps toward first base to try a drag bunt but pops it up in front of the plate. Pitcher and catcher scramble and dive for the ball, colliding in the grass between home and the mound as the batter sprints down the first base line. Cat is up first and reaches one hand down to Shawna, her other hand holding up the mitt with the snow cone of the ball peeking out.

“Batter’s out!” calls the umpire to complete Shawna’s perfect game.




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