Nathan was never an athlete. He was almost certainly the worst player on his Little League team.
But he wanted to play, even if he really didn't understand team sports at all, and even if he rarely hit the ball. He was basically a guaranteed "out."
He practiced, though. He practiced a lot. Every day. He'd take his ball and glove and go outside and throw the ball up against the house's foundation and then catch the rebound. Or he'd try to catch it. His dad would pitch, and he would try to hit it. Over and over again.
Along came the final game of the season.
There is no way to make this up.
Game tied. Overtime. Sudden death. Three guys on base. Two outs. Nathan comes up to bat. Everyone knows what is going to happen. You can hear the groaning from the fathers in the stand. "OMG, it's Nathan. Well, there goes the game."
Nathan got up to bat. He had no idea that people were in despair. He probably had no idea that this was important. He just got up and hit the ball.
He was so shocked that he didn't run. His coach was screaming, "RUN, NATE, RUN!" Finally, he took off, and in a grand finale, he slid into home plate, behind the other three players.
This was all made possible because the opposing team had an outfielder whose playing ability equaled Nathan's, and the kid fumbled the ball badly, but no matter.
It was glorious.
He got a trophy. His coach gave him a bear hug. His teammates carried him off the field.
He also learned that if he practiced hard and long, day after day, he could actually succeed. Soon afterwards, he began playing piano and then guitar. And then he began to write songs. The lesson stuck.
