Baseball Championship

When I was twelve years old, my baseball team won the Bellevue (WA) city championship. Baseball-wise, it was all downhill for me after that, but at least one of the kids on my team ended up playing briefly for the majors I am told. In the final game, we were ahead by one run in the final inning. There was one out, and there was a runner (from the other team) on third base. I was playing third base, and I was playing ahead of the base next to the runner who was leading off as we thought the other team might bunt. The batter did not bunt. The batter hit a screaming line drive right at my face. I threw my head and myself backwards to keep the ball from hitting me in the face. I barely got my glove in front of my face in time. The ball in my glove hit my forehead. I fell backwards. My butt and back landed on the base, which knocked the wind out of me and the ball up in the air. I had enough presence of mind to realize that I should not let the ball hit the ground. I leaned way over to catch the ball again that had squirted out of my glove before it hit the ground. Somehow, I managed to lean way out and catch the ball again with one butt cheek on the base, just before the runner slid into me trying to get back. I felt stupid as I had tripped and fallen awkwardly and had failed trying to keep the ball from hitting my face more than I was trying to make a play. The local newspaper, however, was kind: “Doug Rough made an unassisted double-play to end the game.”