I still remember the somber feelings on that hot July day in Panama City. Word travelled quickly around the tournament grounds, Westbank Pride just lost their quarterfinal game. As the number one seed going into the World Series, there was a numbing shock that spread around the team, the crowd, and the winning team. While we did receive a loss in the series, we still have another chance to redeem ourselves due to the “double elimination” bracket rule. All we know is that there is a long road ahead of us in this tournament.

“Your time will come, Olivia,” my mom gloomily reminds me, placing a hand on my shoulder as I choke back burning tears. We did not lose often, but when we did, it was heartbreaking. “Just have patience. Approach the next game with a fresh mind and a patient heart.”

Patience. In such a fast paced and emotional game, she wants me to have patience? Now, instead of going straight to the championship, we play two more games. If we lose any one of those games, it is all over for us. No ring, no trophy, no glory. Even so, if we do make it to the championship, we play the team we had just lost to. Who knows what they could do to us? I imagine how exhausted we would be after three consecutive games and sigh a breath of aggravation. I look down at my feet, knowing that she is only trying to comfort me.

“I know. It just stinks that we come all this way and earn a loss when we’re so close.” I shuffled my metal cleats, trying to distract my busy mind with ear-tingling scratches on the concrete below.

“Just take it one game at a time, Liv. You know what you are capable of.” She then gives me one last hug and lets me join the rest of the disheveled team.

I then walk to the team of girls sitting in a disheveled circle and sit on the vibrant, nicely kept grass, smelling it’s fresh-cut scent as I make myself comfortable alongside my friends. As we wait for the announcement of our next game time, all is silent between us. All we could focus on was our loss and the looming “what if’s” that could have changed the game’s emotional turnout.

“Guys,” I say, my voice slicing through the tension that builds. I am looking at the ground, not knowing what kinds of emotions will show if I lock eyes with my teammates. “I know we are all feeling bummed, but we have to promise each other not to give up,” I can feel my throat burning like it is being closed off with barbed wire as my face is coloring itself red with passion and fury. “We did not come this far just to go back home when something doesn’t go our way. We have a hell of a fight coming for us in these next few hours, but we need to have faith in each other that we can win this. We just need to take things one game at a time.” I then think about my mother. “We need to have patience with what is ahead of us.”

I’ve never spoken with this much passion before. Losing such an important game just means so much to us and gives us a hurtful dose of reality. Nothing is going to be handed to us. We know, in that moment, that we have to grit our teeth and fight as one unit until the very last pitch.

With this feeling of newly found strength and determination boiling inside of us, we jump to our feet and get to work. In a blur of passion and grit, we win the redemption quarterfinal and semifinal games one after the other. Louisiana Westbank Pride versus Florida Clearwater Vipers. Win, Louisiana Westbank Pride. Louisiana Westbank Pride versus Georgia Impact. Win, Louisiana Westbank Pride. We now know that we were that much closer to a national championship title. I scream and jump for joy in the dirt as if I were an overexcited child. I then remember my mother’s words, patience, Liv. One game at a time . Yes, it is exciting to win back to back, but both the team and I know that there is going to be work to do in our championship game if we want to walk away with the win.

I begin my pitching warm-ups for the fourth time today in the sweltering heat. Am I going to be able to do this? I am so exhausted, but I want to get this game over with. Can’t we just fast forward to the seventh inning? I snap back into reality as I accidentally throw my first warm-up into the dry and dusty ground. I quickly apologize for the pitch and take a deep breath after the ball is returned to me. Focus, Olivia. Patience. Remember to have patience. Pitch your game. Control your game.

I take a quick water break after the warm-up and examine the team that we have seen a few hours ago as they sit in the opposing dugout. Too smug for my liking. They have no idea of what kind of determination is coming to them. Minutes later, my coach nervously tells me that it’s game time. His face is red and sweaty, whether it was due to the heat or nerves, I will never know. This is it. It is now or never. Leave it all out on the field and take control when the opportunity was granted. Most importantly, though, be patient and do not be afraid to slow down.

Inning after inning goes by with no clock accessible to show how long we have been in this championship game. While it could be hours since the start of the game, the time passes quickly as each inning continues. All throughout the game, my teammates sneak distressed looks at one another. We all knew what each and every person was thinking. Do we actually have a chance? The game is tied at five at the top of the seventh inning with no outs and runners on every base. If there is ever a time where I can feel distress shoot through my entire body, this moment takes the cake. Patience. Stay calm. Tension is high, but I know that there is a solid defense behind me. Before I approach the solid rubber to send the next pitch, I take a look at my best friends behind me as my callused hands nervously spin the ball. We all share an anxious smile, unknowing of what was in store for us. Then, the unthinkable happens.

I send the pitch to the batter and immediately hear a loud, booming crack of the bat. That’s it. We lost. Game over. Time to go home. I automatically know that she sent the ball far away. Instead of sighs, though, I hear cheers of excitement. Am I wrong?

The crowd bursts into a cheering fit as I watch the scene unfold in front of me. The batter hits a line drive to the third baseman for the first out, she then touches her base for the second out of the inning, and quickly soars the ball to first base just in time for the third out. A triple play--a miracle that is relatively unheard of due to its rarity in the game. Our team bursts into cheers and skips back into the dugout with enthusiasm. With a quick look at the booming crowd and a beaming smile from my mom, I know we have this in the bag.

The first girl up to bat at the end of the seventh is my best friend, Sierra Sacco. Before she steps out the caged dugout, I remind her to have patience. I understand that it is difficult to take things slow while chaos is happening all around. She takes a deep breath, sets herself up, and hits the neon yellow ball with all of her might. Everyone stares in silence and anticipation as the ball rises higher and higher. No way.

We watch with tears in our eyes as the ball lands behind the fence and is counted as a homerun--a walk-off homerun. Immediately, the entire group crowds around home plate, our emotions and adrenaline pumping like never before as we wait for Sierra to step on the plate. Then, when she does, a chorus of sobs erupts from our group as a dogpile forms. As I struggle for air at the bottom of the pile, I take a look at the stands and lock teary eyes with my mother. Without even opening her mouth, I know exactly what she is thinking. With patience, all things are possible.