It came in the bottom of the sixth inning
when we were down 1-0,
when we’d lost seven games in a row,
a new club record of dubious distinction;
when we hadn’t led at the end of the inning
in fifty-four innings, when we hadn’t scored
in thirteen; when the team that had won
14 of 16 games – another new team record,
but one that more accurately reflected
the team’s talent – had suddenly been unable
to get on base, stay on base, advance to
the next base and went 0-6 on the road trip.
We’d watched while a seven game lead
in our division dwindled to a mere two games
in only a week. But through it all, we never
lost our belief that the team would come back.
And now we watched while we slowly
loaded the bases, Nick reaching first
on a fielding error, Caleb singling, and
Marc beating out an attempted sacrifice bunt.
With no outs, Austin came to the plate
and three pitches later, we watched
as the ball sailed slowly over
the high left field fence into the sunset,
as three players, sailing themselves,
rounded the bases and came in to score,
as the grand slam man was greeted
at home plate by the whole team,
as our belief was upheld once again.