Trent Schmidt

3rd Place Winner of the 2026 Novus Literary Arts Journal High School Creative Writing Contest

For the first time in a while, I felt something, not quite nervous but as if this moment mattered more. I wanted to win; it was what was expected of us; it was why we were there.

I arrived at the field around 8:00. It was a cool Sunday morning in July. The turf was damp from the early morning due. An unspoken tension filled the stadium, but on the outside my teammates and I appeared to have a light-hearted approach to the game. As we stretched and warmed up, we made small banter. Some of the guys with girlfriends filled each other in on the latest Love Island episode, while others talked about how sore they were from the days prior. Regardless, it was almost time to get serious.

The days leading up to the championship were less than eventful. We played well in order to get there, ruling two teams in the process.

However the games weren’t really being taken seriously by us, as there wasn’t any doubt as to what the outcome of the games would be.

It’s simple, we win.

This game however was going to be different. We were going up against our own program. The game had more meaning to it than just being some championship. It showed who the best coaches and players in the program were.

As I stretched I looked across the field and saw former teammates. Guys I knew were solid. But today that didn’t matter. All that mattered was beating the players standing on the other side of the field.

Ten minutes to game time coach Alfonso called us over, “Boys, I’m gonna be honest with you, I didn’t sleep last night. All I could think about was this game. Right here, right now. You’ve done it all summer, compete; it’s no different today. For the next 90 some minutes, leave it all on the field. That’s all I can ask.” He followed with, “Lineups posited. Lets get ready to hit.”

Top of the first.

I was hitting two hole, playing center. Their pitcher Logan, a kid I had played with before, was on the bump. He was an upper 80’s arm with a good breaking ball.

We go three up, three down with three groundouts to start the game. And now it was time to take the field. I ran out to center and yelled out to Jaxen, my left fielder, “Well we got ourselves a game today.” A tone of mockery in Jaxen’s voice was apparent when he replied with, “Ya, they’re better than I expected.” “Balls in” rings out from the infield and we take our positions.

On the mound we had a small crafty southpaw. Not being able to throw very hard, he lived off of his command and offspeed. This meant he relied heavily on his defense to have success. And he didn’t take long to put us to use. The first pitch . . .

Crack!

The ball flew up into the air. I opened with my eyes fixed on the ball. My body glided back as I tracked it. No feeling, no thoughts, just reaction.

There are many reasons to why I believe baseball is the greatest sport to exist, but that’s

probably number one. The more you think, the more you can mess up. The game allows, almost forces you to let your thoughts go and just play.

Just play.

No overthinking, no stress, no crying over spilled milk. Only controlling what you can control and then moving onto the next thing.

Pop! The ball hit my glove and we had one down.

The next few innings flew by. We scored first and they answered.

After five innings the game was tied at one to one. We were back up to the plate. Jaxen led off the inning with a triple. Mira, our shortstop, and the next batter, drew a walk. Two pitches later he was caught stealing second. They got one.

Stranding runners on base is one of the worst things you can do in baseball. Especially when you have a guy on with nobody out because you can bunt, squeeze, hit a back side ground ball. There’s so many options to get the runner in.

None of which we had done. Instead, Jaxen tagged up on a shallow fly ball to center and got hosed at the plate.

Just like that, three outs, and we were back in the field. That’s how quick the game can shift. To go from one of the best possible starts to an inning, to the worst possible outcome.

And why?

It wasn’t because they outplayed us in the inning, or because their arm on the mound was too dominant. We outplayed ourselves. We got too greedy and the game humbled us.

After some more missed opportunities, our sleep deprived coach addressed the dugout just before the start of the ninth inning, “Boys, I apologize. The anticipation of this game has

gotten to me and I have cost us I don’t even know how many runs. But the game will still go on, and it’s going to be up to y’all to finish it. We got one inning left, let’s go win a ball game.”

The ninth inning started, and our dugout was filled with chatter, as we were hitting once again.

“Come on now four.”

“Here you go kiiiiid.”

“Hum babe.”

The pitch . . . Crack! The balls laced towards short and caught. Great swing, still out.

The next guy up was Dawson, our first baseman. He watched a few, and then he got his pitch. The ball sailed toward the right field wall. Caught short at the track. Two great swings and nothing to show for it.

Our third hitter entered the box. First pitch, “Strike one.” Second pitch, ”Strike two.” Third pitch swinging, and the ball, weakly struck, floated just over the infield, and dropped into the right-center gap. We had a chance. I stepped into the box. The first pitch was a passed ball. It was the top of the ninth, tied ball game, and we had a runner on second with two outs. It was now or never. I gripped the bat loosely, no thinking, no feeling, just like the fly ball from before, just reaction.

The pitch came in. He hung a breaking ball middle, middle, and I drove it into left. My teammate on second read it down and flew around third scoring easily.

Our next hitter grounded out and our time for scoring had ended, but we had the lead, 2-1

All we had to do now was hold them. Three outs and we win. That’s it, three outs and we were champions. It all came down to this, every pitch, every hit, every out. The moment of that

inning is why we play the game. Will you rise to the occasion or crumble to the pressure? Will you be able to overcome the challenges or fall back into the security of excuses? Only one will take you to success, to your goals, to a champion.

Bottom of the ninth . . .