On Wednesday, April 5th, Margaret Melnik ’24 parked her car in the same place she always does — right outside Mac, across the street from Headmaster’s Field. It is a convenient spot central on campus. What Margaret did not account for, however, was that Deerfield Boys’ Varsity Baseball was playing Loomis that afternoon. A foul ball rattled off a Loomis player’s bat, soaring through the air, and crashing down into the back window of Margaret’s car, shattering the glass. Margaret was able to sort things out and get her back window fixed. But what about the baseball itself? What did it feel? Here’s what it said:
Everyone is worried about the car window and about Margaret. But what about me? It’s not like I chose to fly into her car. I took a hit too, and no one asked how I felt. Anyways, let me tell you my story. After sitting in the umpire’s back pouch for what felt like years, I was pulled out and tossed to the mound. Let me tell you, sitting in the glove is so scary. I’m a little claustrophobic, and in a glove, I can’t see or move. If you think being in a ball bag is bad, a glove is 100 times worse. At least there are other baseballs to talk to in a bag. In a glove, there’s nobody.
As I was sitting in the glove, the pitcher’s other hand reached in and grabbed me, and I knew that I was about to go fast. I had only been pitched a few times before this one, and they all felt exhilarating but incredibly scary. The pitcher cocked back and released me, and I began to fly. I went so fast, and I saw everything: the other players, fans behind the backstop, Barton towering over the field. Then, suddenly, I collided with the catcher’s mitt, and everything went black.
The catcher threw me back out to the pitcher, and once again, I sat in the pitcher’s glove for far too long. The pitcher, after taking his sweet time, finally reached into the glove, loaded up, and launched me. The feeling was surreal. I rocket toward home plate, the air blowing past me, yet this time, something different happened. I expected to land in the soft embrace of the catcher’s glove. However, a split second before I anticipated, I felt the batter’s metal bat rattle me back into the air.
The metal hurt so badly as it propelled me into the sky. I flew higher than I’ve ever been, and through the pain, I enjoyed the view. I could see all of campus, from the Koch all the way down to Jim Smith. Then suddenly, I realized; I was flying in the wrong direction. I thought, at first, that I was a home run, but I wasn’t flying into the outfield. I was flying backward, behind home plate, behind the backstop. I was also no longer going up. I was falling down and falling down fast. As I plummeted, I looked down and saw a car, which I later learned belonged to Margaret. As a baseball, I don’t get to control where I go, and before I knew it, I went straight into that back window and broke all of the glass. I’m sorry, Margaret. It wasn’t personal.
After I landed in that trunk, I thought I’d finally be retired. But no, someone reached into the trunk and grabbed me. They brought me all the way back to Headmaster’s, and right back into the umpire’s pouch. Hopefully no more windows again…