The Bear

There had never been a pitcher who'd thrown as hard as her.

Some , including myself, stood right up in the bleachers at Fairport's Lyndon Road Little League Fields, when they realized what they were seeing. She was ten, but she was throwing with the intimidating velocity and drive of a varsity player.

Even her wild misses against the backstop looked l ike they hurt. Her catcher could not catch her.



Imagine what the Mets were thinking.



The score in the bottom of the fifth didn't even seem to matter, even though the hometeam Metropolitans were leading the fireballer and her team by two runs. But even the Mets seemed to sense scoring for the evening was over.

 

The fireballer... Emily was her name.... ripped strikes past a couple of Mets. Then she walked a few. And then to the plate came The Bear.



 Clare had always been known as The Bear not for her ferocity, but, for her cuteness: Clare Bear. She was also what her coach called the Mets "closer." She'd already entered in the top of the fifth as the team's pitcher and struck out the side.

And Clare, like Emily, had been trained in pitching. Eight weeks of Saturday mornings that winter at the Perinton Rec Center learning the mechanics had started Clare on her pitching journey. She pitched half as fast as 

Emily, who looked like she'd started that journey years before. She was two years older than Clare.



And so, Clare took her place in the batter's box. Emily, who as she had been doing all inning, toed a spot on the mound not on the rubber, but four feet behind it. It was a good sport gesture on her part to be fair.

 And then....

WHAP!



Little leaguers not used to standing in against a pitcher who knows how to pitch can dream up a lot of terrible places where a hard thrown ball can hit them. The head. The back. The knee. Thirty-eight years of being around little league and not once have I heard of a kid fearing, or ever actually getting hit, square in the stomach. 

Until Clare took her first pitch from Emily.



 

The Bear howled in pain and immediately doubled over. Parents on the Mets sideline gasped.

Mom was there by the time she'd reached the bench, surrounded by coaches with ice and water at the ready. Clare's teammates seemed stunned. Alyssa, next up, looked angry. She swung hard at three high pitches to end the inning in an apparent effort to avenge her fallen teammate.

 



"I'm going to have a huge bruise on my stomach," said Clare in a half sob, still wincing on the bench. Dad came to the bench and asked: "Clare, do you want to go back into the game and show them how tough you area?" Clare's coach echoed the question and said she could go out and pitch again.



And so out Clare trotted. 

As soon as she began her warmups, she returned to the same broad windup and form that made her a pitcher that caught coaches eyes. Three strikes later, she'd retired her fourth straight batter. A tap back to the mound, and Clare had tossed to first for the second out.

 Two batters would reach on walks, including Emily, who'd waited out an 0-2 count. Then Clare dispatched the opponent's last threat on strikes and a cool spring evening came to a close.




Clare left the dugout with the game ball signed by every teammate and Mets coach. She didn't know it, but she'd enjoyed a night of a lifetime. For how often do any of us get to teach so many people at once life's most important lesson.



That is, when you're knocked down, get up and keep going.