“As the heat of an East Coast summer gives way to October's chill, it all comes down to this. One-hundred, sixty-two games. Fourteen-hundred and fifty-eight innings. With an entire season of exuberance and heartbreak on the line, this one at-bat will decide who will move on to the World Series, and who will return home, haunted by dreams of what might have been."

“At the plate for Boston, digging in with a purpose, stands the hard-hitting, rookie phenom, Dalton Cornelius. And now, facing him, on the mound for New York, readies the one man who can snatch away an otherwise certain Rookie of the Year from the Texas native.”

“That about sums it up, Vince. Tyler Reese has been electric. With fifty-eight saves and an infinitesimal ERA of 0.95, Tyler’s been jelly-legging hitters all season.”

“That’s true Mitch, but if anyone has been Tyler’s Kryptonite this year it’s the man at the plate. In the eighteen games these two teams faced each other, Tyler Reese has stared down at Dalton nine times. The results? Four home runs by the big Texan, including two Grand Slams.”

“Tyler's also drilled Dalton twice this year, Vince. No matter how hard Dalton hit him, he’s never given up the inside of the plate. But as tough as the kid is, with the bases loaded now, those Grand Slams have got to be on his mind.”

“You have that right, Mitch. It doesn’t get any more tense than this. Bottom of the ninth, with two outs and the bases loaded for Boston and New York nursing a one-run lead, Tyler has no place to put the big man from El Paso.”

“Tyler can’t allow a walk here, Vince, so he has to bring the heat. It’s fair to say, whoever wins this at-bat will walk away with the American League Rookie of the Year, while earning their team the American League Championship!”

oo0oo

I love the spring. The sun’s warmth after a long, cold winter makes me feel alive again. The joy I feel as the snow melts never leaves me. The explosion of life and the sounds of nature always bring a smile to my face. Most of all, it's walking out onto those green fields and smelling the unique scent of freshly cut grass... Yeah, that scent means only one thing. It's time to play ball. To some, baseball is just a game; to others, it's a passion. For me, it's nothing less than life itself.

Away from the diamond, I've always felt out of place. Even in high school, I never felt the urge to chase girls like other guys did. Somehow, I felt empty when my teammates left the clubhouse. One by one, they slipped away, intent on spending the winter dating and doing all of those things young men are supposed to do.

Watching as my buddies grew closer to their girlfriends than they were to the team hurt in ways I could never explain. And to hear them bragging about the sex... That was more than I could take. As each season passed, it became easier to stay within myself and become lost in my preparation for the season to come.

From the time I could pick up a ball to those last, uncomfortable years in high school, baseball was my life. I practiced with a single-minded obsession, strengthening my arm and refining my game until I was the most feared pitcher in the state. By the time I turned eighteen, I was six-foot-three and could reach 97 miles per hour with my fastball. When I took the bump, I owned the entire field. Let me tell you, there is nothing so satisfying as the look on a guy's face when he swings late on a strike-three pitch!

While my social life may have been lacking, my prospects for college were glowing with opportunity. I was receiving scholarship offers from Universities all over the nation, and my father was beside himself with pride. Again and again, I was told how great college life would be and how much fun I would have, but somehow, I just didn't see it. Carousing with girls held no interest for me. The more my teammates flirted with the opposite sex, the emptier my heart became. The final straw was the day my best friend and catcher, Josh Daily, told me he was moving in with his girlfriend.

Josh was a beautiful guy, and his smile always brought me out of my funk. Watching him hold Andrea with such passion just broke my heart. It was then that I realized my feelings for him were beyond mere friendship. That night, in the solitude of my bed, I cried in despair. The sudden certainty that I loved him, and the equal certainty that my love could never be returned, ripped the hole in my heart wide open. Worse still, the implications of what those feelings meant filled me with dread.

I suppose being gay shouldn't bother me as much as it did. Times had changed after all, and homosexuality wasn't the stigma it once was, but being gay in private life was one thing. Being gay in the spotlight of sports was entirely different. In over a hundred years of organized baseball, I couldn't think of one player who had ever dared allow such a secret to become known while he was playing. I knew then that to continue my dream, I would be forced to live a lie for as long as I played.

After that, the idea of college life sickened me. When I was selected by Detroit with the seventeenth pick of the professional draft, I quickly signed the contract.

Yeah, that’s right. I said Detroit. Professionally, at least, I thought everything was going my way. What I quickly learned was that being in close quarters with men who were experienced in the world made keeping my secret all but impossible. Professional baseball is a close-knit fraternity. As such, no one, not even the most homophobic of players or staff, dared out me in public. Nevertheless, once my team realized I was gay, the inevitable backlash slapped me with yet another reason to feel cursed by my nature.

I wouldn’t have believed I’d be traded. Top draft choices on the fast track to the Show are supposed to be valued by their club. But when another, even more valued prospect made his disgust for me clear, the GM made a decision that was as unsurprising to me as it was baffling to the press. Terrified by the possibility of a very public and poisonous dissension within the team, I was included in a blockbuster, three-way deal that sent me to New York while my homophobic teammate was shipped off to their hated division nemesis in Boston.

Being rejected by my club was a crushing blow, but I was soon consoled by the chance to face talent I would never have seen in College. So it was that I found myself in Trenton, learning to pitch against the best up-and-coming players in the world, yet haunted more than ever by my insecurities.

My first few months were a disaster. I was on the cusp of missing New York's September call-ups and being exiled to Trenton for another summer of Double-A ball.

oo0oo

After my shower, I’d sat there long after the locker room emptied as visions of my future turned to ash. Two walks! Dammit, where was my command?’

I’d become frustrated by then and my next pitch caught too much of the plate. The swing of the bat was smooth and the sound it made-that crisp, singular crack of a ball being squarely hit-was unmistakable. I didn’t even need to turn around to know that ball was gone.

It was my fourth straight appearance with the Thunder and the fourth time I’d been pulled without recording an out. My stuff was still hot, the radar gun registered a blistering 98 miles per hour on that last pitch. That wasn’t why it ended up in the parking lot.

What the hell was wrong with me?

There was nothing wrong with my arm, of course. It was my head that was all fucked up. I’d lost my focus, I could see that. As the great Yogi Berra once said, “Baseball is 90% mental. The other half is physical.”

Quips aside, I hadn’t been able to concentrate since the trade. Having your dreams crushed by bigots and homophobes will do that. For a long while, I sat there on that bench, wondering how the hell Jackie Robinson managed to deal with the hate inflicted on him. Shaking my head, I tried to convince myself there was no shame in being less a man than he was. Deep down, I knew that was a lie. Jackie Robinson was a man to live up to. Not one to hide behind.

I was pondering the benefits of suicide when I heard the footfalls coming from between the grey rows of worn and aging lockers. Rising from my mental morass, I looked up just as one of our equipment guys poked his head around the edge of the row. Never a man who enjoyed delivering bad news, Javier’s regretful “You’re-about-to-be-executed,” expression contrasted in twisted humor with a mummified glop of petrified chewing tobacco clinging to the locker's dented edge.

"Hey, Tyler, sorry things went so badly today. You should know Coach Grant wants to see you. Looks like he’s got a visitor or something."

Shit! This was probably some asshole from New York who came to find out why their new prospect was imploding. Whoever he was, I knew damn well I wasn’t going to like it.

An empty locker room is a lonely place and I was sure my long walk to the manager's office was merely the first step in my descent through the minors. Next would come an even lonelier flight to Single-A. My heart was as low as it had ever been when I knocked on the skipper's door.

Jordon Grant was a grizzled, bear of a man. His deep and raspy timbre, the product of years of smoke and chew, allowed him to rumble both wisdom and curses with an equally intimidating flare. His desk was one of the few places he never wore his cap, and his bald, ebony dome shined under the harsh, incandescent glare of his antiquated lamp. His face was dark and splotched even more darkly with age. With eyes as piercing as they were intense, his was a serious and commanding presence. My hand was shaking as I came through the door.

“You wanted to see me, Skipper?”

“Yes, Tyler. Come on in.” Coach Grant replied as he gestured toward the man on the other side of his desk. “There is someone here I want you to meet.”

“Yeah, about that, Skip. I’ve kind of been expecting this. I know I've had some rough innings, but my arm is strong. It’s my delivery that needs work.

“I’m afraid it isn't that simple, son. Your mechanics are completely out of whack, but simply revisiting how you pitched in high school won’t cut it at this level. You need to reinvent your entire approach. To do that, you’re going to need time, and maybe a little help."

"I agree. So, why can’t I get that help here? Why send me down to Charleston?”

“Charleston? Who the hell said anything about Charleston? As far as I know, the Yankees are fine with you playing here.”

“So, I’m not being sent down?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed through a pearly smirk. “The level of competition you’d face there would never be the challenge you need. I only wanted to let you know we’ve reassigned your roommate for the next road trip.”

Swallowing hard, I digested this news with a mixed cocktail of relief and apprehension. Up to that moment, I’d bunked with Arturo Melendez, a catcher valued highly by the Yanks. It was a common enough practice, as such close arrangements allowed us time to perfect our communication.

With my career back from the brink, I released my breath, daring to breathe again. “May I ask why the change? Losing my connection to Arturo isn’t going to help my game.”

“That’s where you are wrong, kid. It’s a big step moving from high school to the big leagues. I’ve been watching you and I think you need guidance, but more than that, you need a friend who can understand what you are going through. I think Deke Prescott here is just the man who can be the friend you need.”

Deke rose, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you, Tyler.

“Thanks.” I offered back, shaking his in mine. “Didn’t you pitch for Miami a few years back?”

“I had a cup of coffee there, once upon a time. I’m surprised you remember. I blew out my arm after that and haven’t made it out of AAA .”

“Deke’s been bouncing around the minors ever since, doing his best to keep the knuckleball from being completely forgotten. Don’t let that fool you, though. Deke may not have your stuff, but I think he may be just the guy who can help clear your mind.”

Deke shrugged. “I don’t know about that. What I can do is give you some perspective. I might not have Thor’s Hammer in my arm like you do, but I can help you stop throwing the ball and teach you how to pitch.”

A knuckleballer? I thought with dismay. They’ve got to be shitting me. “Great,” I replied, faking the enthusiasm I couldn’t begin to feel. “When do we begin?”

ooOoo

There are a lot of ways to throw a pitch. Fastballs, curveballs, cutters, sliders, and many more. Most pitchers can throw several of these when the need arises, but they all depend on the pitcher choosing where in the zone they end up. Miss his spot and he quickly finds himself in a world of hurt.

That’s where the knuckler is different. By holding the ball with his fingers curled, essentially gripping it with his knuckles, he can stop the ball’s rotation. Instead of boring its way through the air, the raised seams catch it, causing the ball to change course just enough to make predicting its path almost impossible.

Thrown properly, it can make the best hitters look ridiculous. Thrown badly, and it spins just enough to become a 60-mile-an-hour melon, waiting to get drilled into orbit. That’s the reason it’s almost extinct in the modern game. This was the pitch for a man like Deke, who had knowledge but lacked the strength to pitch in the bigs. For a guy with an arm like mine, learning the knuckleball was a waste of time.

Deke and I didn’t have much time together before the next road trip. Baseball is a game played every day, and the minors don’t have the luxury of private jets and hired hands to help with the bags. By the time Deke and I checked into our hotel, we’d barely managed to speak, let alone practice.

Even still, I’d been watching him. He was a few years older than I, but thirty is hardly ancient outside of professional sports. He was a rugged man, whose perpetual stubble never seemed to grow. He was lanky and strong and damn, I loved how he looked in his jeans.

More than once, I had to forcibly stop myself from stealing glances at him, but it wasn’t easy. Being around so many athletic guys, alfa-males one and all, was a constant distraction and Deke was on another level from most. Still, it was my wondering eye that set off Dalton Cornelius back in Detroit. That was a mistake I vowed never to repeat.

Damn, why do I have to share a room with him? I silently mourned, once again hating myself for the narrow-minded judgments society forced on men like me. When I went to bed that night, I knew it was going to be a long road trip.

oo0oo

I wasn’t even sure where we were when I woke that morning. We had an early game scheduled and we rushed out, trying to be at the field by ten. By the time our bus arrived, storm clouds were gathering over the ancient relic that passed for the local minor league ballpark.

“I don’t know, Tyler,” Deke mused in his southern drawl. “I think this one's getting rained out.”

“I think you’re right,” I answered, staring out of the window as the rain began to fall.

Maybe it was the weather, but I hit a new low that morning. Not since Josh had I met a man who made me feel the way Deke did. We were connecting in a way I found impossible to resist. It was maddening, and I despaired at once again being rejected.

By the time we returned to our hotel, I was deeply depressed. The dreary weather set off a wave of pent-up emotions and my mood became as dark as the clouds above the stadium. I tried to keep my thoughts to myself, but Deke was far too intuitive.

“Tyler, it’s just one game, son. We have plenty more to go, so you might as well enjoy the day off.”

“It's not the weather,” I responded more sharply than I intended. “It’s my whole life. Just forget it. You wouldn’t understand. Hell, no one ever did.” I was sitting at the desk and I buried my head in my hands, wishing I had a place to hide.

“So, this is about you being gay? I’d have thought by now you’d realize no one who matters gives a damn. The ones who do aren’t worth the effort it takes to wipe your ass, kid.”

His words hit me like a thunderbolt. I’d never come out to my team. I figured some of them had guessed, but I was shocked to my core to be so openly confronted. When I couldn’t respond, Deke nodded and came closer to me. “You aren’t the first gay player in the league, you know. Hell, you aren’t even the only gay player in the room.”

It took me a full five seconds for that to sink in, and Deke waited, smiling in understanding as I turned to look at him. “You mean, you?”

“Well, who the hell do you think I mean? There ain’t no one else here, is there? Why do you think the coach wanted you to meet me? So I could teach you to throw a damn knuckleball? He knew you needed someone you could relate to. Someone who’d been there, right where you’re sitting now.”

I scoffed, partly out of disbelief, but also because I’d hoped for something more. “That’s wonderful,” I responded. He was there to be a father figure when what I needed was someone to hold me for a change.

Deke seemed to sense my frustration and sighed deeply. “I didn’t come here to seduce you, I hope you know that. But I didn’t expect to like you as much as I do either.”

That’s when I felt his hands on my shoulders. Strong, confident, masculine hands that were sweeping away my anxiety. It was as if he was lifting away the shroud of loneliness I’d been wearing since that day Josh said goodbye.

“You’re not alone, Tyler. There are a lot of men in the majors who share your desires, but this is an old and conservative game. We all know that anyone who sticks his head up is likely to get it smacked with a hammer. That’s what made Jackie Robinson so special.”

“He wasn’t able to hide his difference, of course, but have you ever asked yourself if he would have if he had the choice?”

“No,” Tyler mused. “I don’t suppose he would.”

“You bet your ass. That was the kind of man he was. Someday, one of us is going to have to come out and face the public while he’s still wearing the uniform. Until that happens, none of us can be honest about ourselves while we are playing this game.”

“If that’s how you feel, why don’t you come out?”

“Hell, kid, maybe I wound, but nobody gives a damn about a AAA knuckleballer on the wrong side of thirty. All I’d get is a footnote in Wikipedia and a ticket out of the game. It has to be someone the media cares about. Someone too big to get shuttled off to Outer Mongolia.”

“That isn’t me.” I groused. “The first time Detroit had to face that backlash, they traded my ass for a warm towel and a bag of used balls.”

“If you can’t pitch better than you are, maybe that’s all you were worth.” Deke mused. “It could have been worse. Now, you are with the Yanks in the biggest media circus in the league. They never would have taken you if they were afraid of what people might think. Maybe you should think about that the next time you take the bump.”

Deke was still speaking, reassuring me that my future was bright, but I no longer heard his words. It was the tone of his voice I was focusing on. The calming timbre of his baritone flowed over me as his touch coaxed my taut muscles out of their bundled knots. I was relaxing into him, melting with my will to succumb to the first affectionate caress a man had ever given me.

Somewhere in my mind, I knew I was becoming aroused. My cock lengthened, becoming hard as my breath grew deep. Deke’s touch was changing, lingering beyond that of an innocent massage to one of intimate suggestion, as if a question was posed.

His breath was hot on my neck when I accepted this fact. My response was as instinctive as it was inevitable. It wasn’t until I brought his hand to my lips, kissing it tenderly before our conversation touched on the moment we were about to share.

“Have you ever done this with a man, Tyler? It’s okay if you have. There is no shame in it, but part of me hopes you haven’t.”

The question froze my heart, but even that shock couldn’t quench the fire in my blood. Shaking my head, I placed his hand on my chest, granting him the right to explore my body. “No, I never had the nerve. I’ve wanted to so badly, but none of the men I wanted were like me.”

“You can’t know that, Tyler. Not if you didn’t ask. So I am asking now, I want this with you, and I hope you want it too.”

Deke guided me to my feet and in a flash, I was in his arms. I had no idea where to start, but when his lips found mine, I melted into him, accepting his tongue as if were the most natural act in the world.

I can’t begin to describe what I was feeling. I was a coiled spring held back for far too long. Deke was releasing my binds and the energy of my frustration burst forth within an uncontrollable torrent of passion. When his hand found my cock through my pants, I groaned into his mouth.

A lifetime of frustration, of pent-up angst, and raw need surged through me. I wanted to feel him against my skin, to taste him, and to revel in his strength. We tore at each other’s clothing, ripping buttons from our shirts and sending them scattering across the rug.

Being a tall, lanky man with an athletic build, Deke's muscular chest, almost completely devoid of hair, flexed deliciously as he threw off his jersey. His small nipples were hard and my excited gaze danced over his skin, raking down his torso to that happy little trail of fur disappearing under his game pants.

I was so excited I didn't know where to start. I'm sure he could see that in my eyes, but his passionate kiss swept away my growing uncertainty. I felt his hands on my crotch. Working at the belt, he pulled my pantaloons down, urging me to kick them off. When his hand found my cup, I groaned in frustration.

"These damn things are always a pain in the ass," Deke groused as his mouth traveled down to my clavicle. Biting at my skin, he continued, kneeling at my feet until he was just inches from the plastic guard covering my cock.

My whole body was tingling and my cock felt uncomfortably cramped as it grew hard in the cup. Even my knees were trembling and I suddenly feared I would blow my load the minute he pushed me into the chair, pulling my jock strap down my legs and tossing it away.

"Damn, that's what I like to see, kid. Your cock is nice and hard."

Fisting me, he stroked me with a tight grip as if savoring the feel of it in his hand. I hated being this docile. I wanted desperately to touch his and know what it felt like in my hand, but I was at his mercy. My heart was thrumming madly and my breath caught in my throat as he brought his mouth to my inflamed head.

"Oh, fuuck," I gasped as the wet warmth of his mouth glided over me, sucking me in until half my cock was buried inside.

The sensation was electric, a gentle sucking pressure pulling at my glans while the soft, moist flesh of his tongue caressed the underside of my shaft. Holding his shoulders, I fought the urge to grab his head and shove my cock deep. I could feel wetness spreading over me as he moved up and back, pulling on my taut skin before sliding back and taking me ever deeper into his throat.

"Mmm, that feels amazing," I moaned as Deke settled in, sucking my cock with increasing need. With a wry smile, he pulled off, fisting me again and running his hand up and down my slick length. "It ain't easy being gay in this game, Tyler. I kinda had a feeling you'd never been with a guy. I gotta tell you, I am happy I can be your first. I have a lot I can teach you."

The steady stroking of his hand was keeping me hard, but my impending orgasm withdrew into a hot, foggy arousal. "I thought you were only here to teach me how to pitch," I joked, and Deke grinned as he rose to kiss me again.

His mouth was fucking magical and he sucked on my tongue with the same skill he used on my cock. When I felt his hand cup my balls, I rose from the seat, half-standing as he massaged my sack. "Now that's how you grip a knuckleball," Deke whispered, plying his fingers around my nuts before pushing me back and rising to his feet.

It was damn hard to sit there with a raging hard-on while Deke dropped his pants. I held my cock, stroking myself with a controlled pace while I watched his penis come into view. It was long and hard and bobbed wonderfully as his jock dropped to the floor. I could almost taste it when he leaned in, offering that purple-hued monster to me.

"Go ahead, Tyler. Show me what you can do. Trust me, you're going to love it. There ain't nothing like having a hard cock in your mouth."

My stomach was clenching as I sat up and took him in my hand. Squeezing him, I pulled his skin up and down over its hard inner core, marveling at how it could be so soft and hard at the same time. His scent grew strong as I leaned in, searing into my mind as I wetted my lips. I was vaguely aware of him reaching into his bag as I slipped my lips over his turgid head.

Damn I thought as his musky flavor exploded in my mouth. I swirled my tongue over his head and bobbed with shallow sucks as I spread my saliva over his skin. Each time I drew back, my lips left a glistening sheen on his cock, lubricating him and making it easier to take him in the next time I descended over his length.

God, it was a heady feeling to finally have a cock in my mouth, and I realized that it was so much better because it was him. Holding him by the hips, I guided his gentle rocking, keeping him at a pace I could take. He was breathing with a deep cadence that seemed timed to my motions over straining cock. I felt oddly empowered, and I would happily have let him come in my mouth had he not eventually pulled away.

Deke seemed hungrier and more forceful than he had been so far and he grabbed my arms, guiding me to my feet. To my shock, he took hold of my cock and pressed it to his, pumping along my length with deliberate intent as he crushed his mouth to mine.

"I want to fuck you, Tyler. Do you think you are ready for that? It's a big step so it's okay if you aren't."

Oh, my Lord, I thought and my mind screamed with excitement and dread. I was trembling as he led me to my bed. Lying on my chest, I squirmed under him, loving the feel of his hot skin on mine.

Deke was kissing the back of my neck and grinding his cock into the virgin crack of my ass. I barely flinched when he slipped his lubed fingers between us, pressing them into me for the first time.

Soon, I was ready to feel him inside me. Pushing back, I let him know it was time. It was then I felt him shift and then the thick head of his cock pressed into me.

“Oh, my God,” I hissed as the hot sting seared into me. Deke gripped my shoulders, pressing in until I felt myself stretch open and accept his turgid intrusion. I gasped, feeling the motion of his cock entering into me. It was a powerful feeling, and when his thighs pressed against mine, I knew I had him all. We didn’t speak. Words meant nothing compared to the overwhelming sensation of finally being made love to by a man.

My cock throbbed as he fucked me. Grinding into the bed each time he struck home. By then I’d adjusted to his size and he moved in and out of my ass easily, sliding his entire length in and out of me. I was in heaven, relaxed and receptive as his speed increased. Our tempo grew harder and faster until finally, I felt him stiffen and grunt as his cum flooded into me.

The rest became a blur to me. Deke went back after he came, sucking my cock slowly, lovingly even until I was ready to cum. Holding my balls as he did before, I finally felt I knew what a knuckleball really was. Emotions welled up, and that, more than the physical pleasure, caused my orgasm to erupt into his mouth.

oo0oo

Deke’s love, and that is what it became, cleared a lifetime of stress from my mind. With my head cleared, he was able to teach me new mechanics that heightened my control without losing my power. He taught me how to pitch instead of throw and the improvement in my game was immediate. By spring, I was up in the bigs, ready to take on the league.

And Deke was right there with me. The Yanks understood he turned me around, so they hired him as my personal pitching coach. Together, we put up numbers beyond my dreams

What he taught me went beyond my game. He taught me courage, and as the season came to a close, with his support, I was able to come out to the New York press. I was the first active player in history to be openly gay. It was a circus, but most of the league was eager to support me.

oo0oo

“Tyler is staring down at the plate, looking for the sign. Dalton digs in as Tyler winds up and throws a fastball for a Strike, just nicking the outside corner.”

That was a great pitch, Vince, lighting up the radar gun at a blistering 99 miles an hour!”

Maybe so, but Dalton’s proved he can time anything Reese can throw. And now Tyler is staring in again. The pitch, and Dalton swings! Driving it high and deep down the right field line but it’s hooking foul into the upper deck!

Dalton almost got that one, Vince. And you can see he’s not happy it didn’t stay in play. A fraction of a second later and that ball would be gone!

And now with two strikes, Tyler is in command. It’s a remarkable performance, especially considering him coming out as gay just a couple of weeks ago!

“Tyler looks determined, Mitch, but his surprise admission has to be a distraction, and the Yanks must be feeling nervous.”

“Very true, Vince. Add to that the personal animosity between these two, the conflict in Detroit, the high-stakes rivalry between New York and Boston and today’s charged political climate heightened by Tyler’s sexual orientation, the drama could not be more intense. But as Tyler winds up, the only thing that matters now is what happens on the field.”

And now with the count at Oh and Two, Tyler sends a high fastball that Dalton turns on! Driving it deep into right field just beyond the pole for his second foul ball. With the Count holding at two strikes there is no room for either man to make a mistake”

“Tyler is glaring hard now, Mitch! With no Balls and Two Strikes, he’s in command and may choose to waste a pitch, just to see if he can get the Texan to bite!”

“And you called that one, Vince! Tyler threw that ball high and tight, driving Cornelius off the plate with some good, old-fashioned chin music!”

“These two have never gotten along and if anyone thinks that might have changed, that pitch proves them wrong! Tyler sent a message with that, telling Dalton to get off his plate!”

“Now the tension is red hot! The count, one Ball, and Two Strikes, leaving neither man room for a mistake. This next pitch may be the one that decides the game and who wins the American League Pennant!”

“And now, Mitch, Tyler is shaking off the signs. Whether that means he’s looking for a specific pitch or he’s lost confidence in his fastball is something Dalton Cornelius will have to consider.”

“The mind games never end, do they, Vince? But whatever pitch, he is set on the mound, ready to send it to the plate!”

“And there is the pitch, a slow, arcing throw that has Dalton way out in front, swinging before the ball even crosses the plate! Dalton Cornelius was expecting a fastball but what he got was the impossibility of a Knuckleball! Dalton’s swing was wild as he tried to pull it back, losing the bat as it sailed down the third base line, and with that he is called out for a New York win!”

“We’d heard rumors Tyler was taught the Knuckleball by his pitching coach, Deke Prescott! But who would have believed he’d dare throw it in this incredibly tense situation! But throw it he did and New York dashes on the field, celebrating their victory!”

“That is a highlight Dalton Cornelius won’t soon live down and with that, I’m sure, Tyler Reese will go on to win a Rookie of the Year!” And some will say it's about time! After one hundred and fifty years of Major League Baseball and twenty thousand men wearing its uniforms not one man has ever come out as gay while playing on those fields. But, today, the man of the moment, whose courage stood between defeat and an entire city’s hope of victory, stood a man willing to come out and defy tradition and the odds! This is a moment baseball, and hopefully the entire nation, won't soon forget!”