The Ghost of Septembers Past

Oh, I remember games like these, Septembers like these. The team has a playoff spot in its sights -- and a pack of rivals that want the same prize. Your young hurler takes the hill; you know he’s good and can’t wait for the rest of the world to find that out. Your opponent is already beaten on paper, a collection of raw kids and vets playing out the string, with a journeyman on the mound. The kid falters a little bit early on, and you worry about some awful blowout, some awful evidence that he isn’t ready. But he settles in and puts your worries to rest. Unfortunately, the journeyman isn’t pitching like one -- and so on and on you go. It’s tied and it stays tied and you’re fretting, wondering why these palookas can’t just go down to defeat and not wanting to assume they will, because the baseball gods notice hubris like that and punish it. And as it stays tied the fear creeps in -- maybe you’re not that good. Maybe that recent losing streak isn’t just a bump in the road, an en...