The concrete floor is covered in rainwater, but only the ground below the first row of green chairs. I sit anyway.
The 7:30 p.m. start of Missouri State and Illinois State – for which I rushed through celebratory grilled cheese with my wiffle ball teammates – is delayed. I sit down at 9 p.m. for the 9th inning of Wichita State and Southern Illinois, a game that started at 4 p.m. It’s tied at 1.
“C’mon!” a Saluki fan yells. Somebody’s mom. Somebody on the team.
“That’s a strike,” she adds.
It’s only in the 50s, but my index and pointer finger on my right hand have already gone numb, a reminder of the frostbite I picked up while taking photos of trees along the Ice Road in the Alaska Interior.
The Southern Illinois team assures each batter that there’s “No one better.” But their final hitter swings over a pitch and the game goes to 10.
Wichita State’s Jordan Boyer doubles off the centerfield wall, advancing to third on a sacrifice bunt. Alex Bohm chops the ball to short, scoring Boyer. It’s only 2-1.
But the Southern Illinois third baseman drops his shoulders and stares at the ground.
“Baseballs, baseballs,” the umpire shouts to a child in a batting helmet.
The luckiest child.
“Pony up,” the Salukis bench insists to the pitcher.
Wichita State adds a run.
Southern Illinois adds a new pitcher. Jacob Williams.
Illinois State players stand in the right field seats, wearing bright red hoodies and hopping in place to stay warm.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Williams mumbles after recording the third out. A run, he means. No, two.
They go to the losers bracket, instead.
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