I nervously walked up to a guy in the link of my school holding a rolled up poster. “Dan!” I said.
After getting Dan’s attention, I unrolled the poster that bore the words, "I can't throw a baseball, but it would be a real catch if you went to Winter Formal with me" in giant bubble letters. Dan burst into a fit of laughter and I joined in.
“Of course,” he chuckled. As he rolled the poster back up, we recalled one of my most embarrassing moments, which became the inside joke behind the way I asked Dan.
It was a gusty, clear spring afternoon as my best friend, Kate, and I walked down the pathway after lacrosse practice. Her boyfriend, Will, who was on the varsity baseball team, had a game on the field across the street from our practice. "Want to come with me to the baseball game?" Kate asked.
It wasn't even necessary for her to ask the question. Who in their right mind would turn down that offer? I had a major crush on half of the baseball team, plus it was a great excuse to procrastinate on homework in the name of school spirit. "Of course," I replied.
“Alright,” said Kate, as we crossed the street, lacrosse sticks in hand, while our cleats clanked against the cement with every step we took. We finally reached the bleachers and sat down on the uncomfortably cold metal benches. I blushed as the baseball coach glared up at us, clearly annoyed at the raucous noise our cleats made on the bleachers.
Ignatius was losing to the visiting team, but it was a close game. Every play had a huge impact on the score and it was vital that the team stayed focused. Even the parents had stopped their small talk and directly focused their attention on the game, intently watching every player’s move, praying for Ignatius to somehow pull out win. I found myself holding my breath when Ignatius was up to bat again, even though I did not know much about the game, other than the fact that there was someone who threw a ball, someone who hit it, and someone who ran on bases. My lack of knowledge of baseball was already a bad sign that something dreadful was impending. The pitcher whipped his arm at the Ignatius player at bat. At lightening speed, the ball glided through the air -- he made throwing a baseball look so simple. The batter swung and the ball skyrocketed into the air. I squinted as it became a minuscule speck in the crisp, blue sky and regained its size again as it traveled behind the pitcher and over the enormously tall fence with a net that stood behind the cage. It smacked down into the stands with a loud whack on the cold metal, right in front of Kate and me. “Foul ball!” the umpire announced.
It took me a moment to realize that everyone was waiting to get the ball back in order to continue the game, and it was right next to me. Eager to keep up the momentum of the game, I jumped out of my seat, cleats rattling and all, to retrieve the baseball. I had faith that I could throw the ball high enough over the net in front of me and easily get it back to the umpire. I was skilled at lacrosse and had been athletic all my life. Plus, that pitcher from the other team made throwing a baseball look like a piece of cake! As I picked up the baseball, I glanced up at the net towering above me, which now seemed taller than before. “I can do this,” I thought, already regretting picking up the baseball, knowing that the whole baseball team, the coach, who already was annoyed with my noisy cleats, the anxious parents, and the spectators were all watching me in anticipation, “no pressure.”
Drawing my arm back, I released the ball into the air. The tiny sphere seemed to soar through the air in slow motion. I bit my lip as it slowed towards the apex of its height. “Please go over,” I thought. As if the ball could hear my thoughts, it of course did the exact opposite. It merely hit the top of the net and bounced back into the bleachers. “Oh no,” I thought, as I felt my face turn a shade of light pink and I felt a pounding in my ears, “if I can’t get this baseball over, I may have to seriously reevaluate my life choices.”
I gingerly picked up the baseball, subtly glaring at it, and this time decided to put some thought into the angle and arc at which I threw it. This was difficult to do, because all I could think about was all of the people watching me and snickering to themselves at the pathetic girl who was a perfect example of the phrase “he plays ball like a girl.” I was determined to not be that girl, and as I chucked the ball back up, it ended up weakly striking the middle of the net -- even lower than before.
"You've got to be kidding," I thought. By now, the coach was getting impatient and was not even trying to conceal it on in his facial expression. Parents were rolling their eyes, I could hear Kate guffawing behind me, and worst of all, the whole baseball team was in stitches. At this point my face was crimson as I ashamedly tossed the ball to a nearby father who easily threw it over the net and back to the coach. The game continued as an extreme cloud of embarrassment swept over me. I was ashamed of myself and overwhelmed as I replayed what had just happened over and over in my mind. "How could I not even throw the ball over? What kind of American can't throw a baseball?" I thought, bewildered. I needed to evacuate the game as soon as possible. I could not bear to look at the baseball team's facial expressions that I was in clear proximity of, let alone look at the parents and the spectators. I could not fathom what the baseball coach thought of me. As Kate's cackling subdued, I dragged her out of the bleachers before there was another foul ball hit into the stands.
As we walked back to school, I was beyond humiliated, but I continued to overanalyze what had just happened. I wanted to hide under my bed and never show my face in the presence of the Ignatius baseball team.
As with most embarrassing moments, the emotions one experiences feel awful at first. Most of the time the emotions felt are so raw that they feel as if they will be permanently etched into your memory. One must realize that nobody is perfect – people make mistakes. If someone take life too seriously it will be impossible to recover from mistakes or letdowns, or move on from embarrassing moments. I knew that the only way for me to recover from my embarrassing moment was to laugh at myself. I could not undo what had happened – so what was the use worrying or hiding from it? I instead broadcasted it on my Winter Formal sign to Dan, demonstrating my ability to make fun of myself and the fact that I had moved on from my embarrassing moment.