Pre-Game: You go through your routine as normal. Running, stretches, hitting, grounders. You have the pre-game jitters, just like always, but that’s because you’re barely 23 and you’re the starting shortstop for a team that’s in the middle of a pennant race. It’s like a dream come true; you escaped poverty in Venezuela to sign with an MLB organization at just 16 years old. You’re humbled by this, and grateful that this team is giving you the chance to do what you love.
1st-4th innings: You’re feeling good today. The team is on a roll, and the mood in the locker room is a little lighter. The front office just acquired two veterans with playoff experience, so they know the importance of winning these games. You’ve become especially close with the other infielders, especially the other shortstop, who you’re starting for tonight. The two of you are inseparable, both young players who are tasked with holding down the middle of the infield.
You singled in your first at-bat, ticking your average upwards towards .250, the borderline of respectability. Maybe this is the game where you begin the rest of your career, when you can finally turn it on and be considered an elite young infielder. In your second at-bat, you struck out, but the fire and passion that you have for the game doesn’t dwindle your confidence one bit. You know that you can be successful, but it will take time. Your team seems to be committed to helping you learn how to be a big-leaguer.
The game isn’t going so well. The pitcher gave up two runs in each of the first three innings and the offense is quiet, so the dugout feels a little grim. However, you believe in this team, just as they believe in you. One of your key hitters is on fire lately, and he homered again today. You believe in him, you believe that the top of the lineup can get on base so he can drive them in. You believe that the captain, who almost had to retire due to a back injury, can come back in time to make a run at the pennant. Optimism fills your world.
5th-7th innings: The game is basically out of hand now, with your team on the losing side, but that’s not what’s giving you the knot in your stomach. The phones in the dugout are going off like crazy, meaning something important is happening. Maybe the General Manager finally pulled off that trade that he’s been promising to give your offense some help. Then your teammates start chattering. A few give a passing glance at you, but none will tell you what’s going on. Doubt starts to creep in; maybe you’re the final piece to a blockbuster trade.
As you try to shake it off, it’s your turn to bat. When you reach the plate and step into the box, the fans give you the loudest ovation you’ve ever received. Normally, the impatient fans don’t give you a welcome like that because they feel like you’re not the best option out there. Now you begin to realize your fate; the team that gave you a chance to live out the true American dream as a poor hispanic kid traded you. This is the same team that needs you to perform in order to stay alive this season, the only team you know, the only friends you have in the game where making enemies is easier than getting hits. You know that this was your final at-bat as a member of this team, and you grounded out. Here come the emotions; sadness, anger, betrayal, disappointment, but most of all uncertainty.
8th and 9th innings: The manager has no idea. No one has told him you’ve been traded. Completely out of the loop, he asks you to go back out there and play the field. You know the deal is imminent, so the tears begin to flow. These are your final precious moments with your teammates, the men you would sacrifice your personal success for. You finally get taken out in the 9th inning, before your last at-bat of the game. The captain takes you into the tunnel and gives you a hug. He tells you “whatever happens, happens. You’ll be great wherever you go. Good luck.”
Post-game: Walking into the clubhouse, the General Manager stops you to tell you some urgent news. Fearing the worst, you take a deep breath and prepare to say thank you to him for providing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to play Major League Baseball. As it turns out, you haven’t been traded; the talks fell through and you’ll remain with the team you fell in love with. Now you’re happy, and you realize it’s time to stop the flow of emotions. You compose yourself enough to give a few interviews about what’s going on and what you know.
The grateful feeling that you felt as the scrawny kid in Venezuela as you were signing your first contract comes back. You realize that baseball is business, but outsiders don’t understand that you’re a human too; that playing with your emotions is not okay. Now, your main focus is to win tomorrow’s game and keep pace with the first-place team.
The Underdog 
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