A year ago today, I awoke on a beautiful Friday morning, threw on my travel sweatsuit that was given to me by my school, and drove to campus. A few minutes later, I grabbed my travel bag and hopped on the bus. I had my iPod and laptop in stow, and was relaxed and ready to embark on the road trip a few hours west of us, where we'd be playing in what was the most important weekend series up to that point in our season.
We were a cool 11 and 1 in conference games, and were on a tear in which we had won 16 of our last 18 games. We were getting attention nationally and were destined to make a run deep into the playoffs.
Our opponent for the weekend was a perennial power, who was also 11 and 1 in our conference and was ranked 12th in the country, after finishing as the national runner-up in 2010 by losing in the national championship game. Their ace pitcher, who was undefeated and led the conference in strikeouts, was scheduled to start the game for them. The scheduled starting pitcher for us was also undefeated and led the conference in ERA. It was set to be a battle of the giants to see who could claim the conference regular season title and the right to host the conference tournament. The weekend had big implications on the playoffs for the future and the potential national rankings that came out weekly.
I calmly stepped off the bus and entered the visiting locker room, where I continued to listen to music while trying to zone in. I had been thrown in relief as a freshman and a sophomore against them, and I had a moderate level of success. But going from a reliever to the Friday starter was a big step. I tried as best as I could to quiet my emotions and slow my environment down. And as the stands quickly filled before the game started, I was doing a very good job of it. Coming into the game with a 1.44 ERA and victories against two teams that were in the national rankings already, I saw the contest as just another performance, regardless of how rowdy the opposing fans may be or how truly important the game may have actually been in reality.
After batting practice ended, I began my pre-game warmup, a ritual of dynamic and static stretching for an extended period of time in the outfield. Then the starting catcher and I began throwing, extending ourselves deep into the outfield while loosening up our arms during the long toss session. After a bit of time, I retreated to the bullpen deep in foul territory in left field to begin my warmup pitches.
My fastball was jumping, my curveball was sharp, and my changeup freely flew off of my fingertips. I felt like I had control of all of my offerings, and confidently went through my routine with a sense that nothing could go wrong.
About 15 minutes later, I toed the rubber for the first pitch of the bottom of the first inning. The leadoff hitter squared up a 1-2 curveball and hit it hard back up the middle, but luckily it was right at me. I gloved it and made the play, undaunted by the voices I heard from the stands and the pressure I felt. The two-hitter blooped a 1-1 fastball down the right field line and legged out a Texas League double. The three-hitter, a mammoth first baseman, dug into the box. He worked the count full, and battled through all of my offerings. I looked into my catcher for the pitch...a curveball was called for the full count. Good choice, I thought. I came set and checked the runner at second, and lifted my leg to come home. I was going to try to backdoor a curve, hoping that it'd freeze the hitter enough to buckle his knees. And if he was going to swing, I was hoping he'd pull off and open his hips and roll a groundball to shortstop.
That was the last pitch I've ever thrown.
One year ago today my UCL exploded while releasing that curveball and I fell to the ground. The ball went to the backstop and I walked off the mound and into the locker room, with a limp left arm and defeated mentally.
Tomorrow is my 22nd birthday, or rather my second-annual 21st birthday, which is what I've been calling it with my friends. I had a feeling that today and tomorrow would be difficult days emotionally for me. I figured I'd spend all day today reminiscing about the pain of hurting my elbow, and remembering all of the misery that ensued afterwards. I figured I'd spend all today tomorrow not celebrating my birthday, but thinking of a fact that hit me the other day quite hard:
I will never throw a pitch in a game as a 21-year-old.
Instead of all of that, I'm busy locked in my bedroom completing a research paper for my senior capstone class today. And tomorrow, well tomorrow's birthday celebration will hopefully be more gratifying than last year's.
Tomorrow I will toe the rubber in the bullpen once more and complete my allotted array of four-seam fastballs. Then once those are done, I will rest, and toe the mound once more. I will come set the same way. But instead of letting a fastball go, I will rotate my fingers together on the side of the horseshoe part of the ball and turn my wrist over inwards.
Tomorrow is the first day I am cleared to throw breaking balls.
My last pitch as a 20-year-old was a curveball to the backstop. Here's to hoping my first curveball as a 22-year-old will have a better result.
With every end comes a new beginning. Happy anniversary to the ulnar collateral ligament I was born with, may you rest in peace. You did well for me, and now it's time to move onto the next one.
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