Three Bases To Home

The field was full of men who would like nothing more than to see me fail, but I was distracted by that deafening tone. It got louder as the crowd saw how fast I was rounding the corners. As my cleat grazed that third bag, my heart was racing. Could I beat that little white bullet headed in the same direction? I dove, hands stretched as far as they would go. I felt my hand brush over the smooth surface of that final base. A split second of silence was broken by a single deep bellow, “SAFE.” I made it home.