Our Team (My Pizza Baseball Team Story)

At the beginning,
I didn't know.
And it seems like when you don't know you lean towards
No.
But I wanted to be bold.
I wanted to be remembered.
I wanted to tell stories to my kids and family later in life. 

It started on a cold, wet, snowy night.
(It might have been snowing or it might not have, the details are fuzzy.)
Headlights danced across the driveway.
We went inside. I stared at the manequin of a fire fighter while my dad signed me up.
"Name, age, tshirt size," the guy at the counter droned. 
"10, but she'll be eleven soon," was the reply. 
I waited and waited.
"Baseball or softball?" 
This time I turned around quickly.
"Baseball."
the guys laughed at me. 
I hated it. 
But I went with it.
One of them said,
"Good," and I beamed. 

Then, there was another night.
In a gym.
In a high school. 
On top of a hill.
I ran and threw balls and put batting helmets on. 
I made it. 
It wasn't a tryout, it was more like an evaluation (which is kind of a dumb name but that's what it was called.)
I was sweaty but I did it.
And then I got put on a team.
A baseball team.
A real, honest-to-goodness, Little League baseball team. Named after a pizza place.
I was scared to death.

At first, I didn't know any of their names. I didn't know them. But,
Gradually,
I did. I knew the people who were good and the people who were new. They knew me. And I was the only girl.
We had games together.
And soon, 
We learned to laugh together. It was the best feeling ever, laughing with these people. Even if I was a little out of place.

Today,
I am so proud of them.
We won. 
We pulled it together.
We were a team. 
We did it. We pulled back.
We high fived. 
We encouraged.
Their team did it.
No.
My team did it.
No.
Our team did it.
We did it.