The cold, late October air settled around me. It was a clear night, and the thousands of fluorescent lights vibrantly glowed into the evening sky. The full stadium sat at a stagnant hum while the home team came up to the plate. I looked around me curiously. The crowd chattered nervously with looks of worry on their faces. The stadium glowed a sea of wavering cherry red and royal blue as the fans stood impatiently waiting. I took another glance at the black and orange glowing scoreboard, my stomach dropping to my knees. It was the 11th inning and we had to win this game.

Around me, fans desperately waited for the game to continue. People stood wrapped in fleece blankets and scarves, their coats fighting to protect them against the bitter, cold, night air. Music played in the background, vibrating through the windy air and further intensifying the entire crowd’s nervous and cold shivering. The time was around 11:30 pm on a Thursday; it was good thing that there was no school tomorrow for me. The buildings around the full stadium reflected the blinding white stadium lights and the Arch shone in the center of the horizon, its reflection imprinted into the vibrant green field below. The skyscrapers looked immense; they made the walls of the stadium seem incredibly high and far away, making a home run seem like even more of an impossible hope.

I had never really gotten this into a baseball game before and had definitely never felt this nervous watching any kind of sport. We had already been down to our last strike--twice. Not just the last strike of the game. It was the last strike of the series, of the team’s entire season. The batter coming up to the plate got an extremely loud and encouraging cheer from the massive crowd. The stadium roared and the ground shook as people got onto their feet to watch what could be the last play of the game-the last play of the year.

He stood there in his dirtied white uniform, his shiny red helmet reflecting the camera flashes from the crowd. He dug his red shoes into the rust-colored dirt as he practiced swinging his bat. My heart raced. We could not afford an out. No one wanted to go into the 12th inning. The game had dragged on for so long already and it had put everyone on an emotional roller coaster. Finally he stood up at the plate, a look of pure confidence on his face. He eyed the pitcher intensely but calmly. He waited. The crowd took a breath. The ball was thrown. Everyone’s hearts stopped. The batter swung, and a loud crack-the kind where you knew the ball was going to go far-sounded from the wooden bat as the crowd roared, knowing he had done it.