Almost

Just to forewarn you, this is not really a Red Sox-related post. That will come in the morning. I'm writing about my softball game, because I just got home and I'm still really pumped about it. We lost, but we were so close to a late-inning comeback. It was 8-2 them in the bottom of the 6th (in softball you only play 7 innings, but if it gets dark, which it did, you end the game sooner). My team then got three runs and there were two outs, and I was coming up to bat. I could feel my heart pounding, the adrenaline pumping, the blood rush to my head. Mired by a hitting slump, I had been bunting all game, going 1 for 2 with a bunt single, a stolen base, and a sac bunt, thanks to my speed. My confidence had increased at each at-bat, knowing that I could drop a terrific dribbler bunt down the third base line and bolt to first base to beat it out. The bases were loaded. My coach gave me the bunt sign. I stood at the plate, but I didn't brace to bunt, so I could fool the infield into not moving in. The first pitch was a ball. I got the bunt sign again. I stared into the pitchers eyes, and I saw the pitch. I stuck my bat out there as it came around and I made contact and just ran. I didn't see it, but I was told it was beautiful and I ran so fast. My bunt turned somehow into a bases-clearing triple. I don't know how. I just remember making it to first, seeing that second base was open, then third, and I kept running as my coach yelled for me to do so. Then I stood at third base for the longest time. The batter kept fouling off pitches, and I was off at every pitch, so I ran home about eight times. Finally, my coach told me to wait for the catcher to throw the pitcher the ball, then go. So I did. The pitcher threw the ball back to the catcher. I was out by a controversial play at home. We scored five runs in the inning, three thanks to me. We lost 8-7.
But the final score doesn't tell everything. It was our best game of the year.