We are in a historic time for baseball. The last days of the season are winding down and Sammy Sosa and Mark McGuire have given us a season to remember. I don't even think we realize how big an event this season will be in historically, two people breaking the home run record and fighting for the season's homerun derby at the same time. It makes me remember my less than spectacular days playing baseball.

I know how it feels. It was in the season and I was trying to connect bat with ball to leave my own mark on the game. I glanced to my coach, who mouthed the words to me, "Choke up the bat." Or he could have been saying, "Wake up, you're fat." I looked down towards third and the base coach was giving me the sign to hit away. Or he could have just had a bad case of prickly heat. For all of us, our time comes. Mine was now.

My twin brother was on third base and I need to drive him home. I had the sweaty palms, the butterfly stomach, the cotton mouth, all for this one pitch. Sure, I was no Sosa or McGuire but I was still capable of being nervous.

I felt this day was definitely stacked in my favor, though: It was my second cousin's grandpa's 61st birthday and I had just that day been turned down for a date the 61st time by Donna Mitchum. It was my fourth turn at bat and Eddie Brunson our bat boy was enjoying his fourth year as a senior. Their catcher was calling for a curve ball by holding down two fingers and Mr. Gale, our shop teacher, always came to our games and he was missing two fingers. Fact is stranger than fiction.

Some people say fate determines greatness. Some say greatness makes its own fate. I say without a shoe deal none of it really matters anyway.

Like most players I was standing at home plate imagining what could happen if I hit this pitch out of the park. Maybe there would be a mad scramble in the stands, while the ball was bouncing around like James Carville on Jolt Cola. Or maybe I would become so famous that I could sit around complain about my lack of privacy, why people just won't let me alone.

Shocked back to reality by my brother's supportive words, "Even a blind hog finds an acorn!" I was ready to hit. The pitcher wound up. The stands fell silent. Seemingly in slow motion, I saw the pitch. Threads spinning over threads, like an earth on its axis, the ball tumbled towards me. I stepped, I swung, I connected.

Like a BB rolling on a table, the baseball rolled perfectly up the middle for a base hit. It would be my first and only hit for the entire season; I'm sure some sort of record for a team member who played every inning of every game for the season. I introduced myself to the first base coach.