I sat glued to my seat on Saturday afternoon at Nationals Park. It was a sweltering day in DC, but that had little to do with the reason I was almost literally stuck in my chair. Max Scherzer was on the mound, and that’s all I needed to be excited.
After an outing that was nearly a no-hitter just six games earlier, Scherzer took the mound to assert his dominance over another National League team. He faced a Pirates team in the midst of an incredibly hot streak, but Scherzer hadn’t heard the news.
After his six-pitch first inning, I sat in my seat, next to my friends, and thought, “oh, this could be one of those nights again.” I didn’t dare speak those words, on the off chance I was ejected from my seat unceremoniously for the blasphemous thoughts I had turned into words. As the game wore on, I realized that everyone sitting around me was fully aware of what was happening on the mound and on the scoreboard. Jovial conversations among friends turned into long, nervous silences.
In the third, Michael A. Taylor made a play at the wall that probably didn’t save a home run off the bat of Jordy Mercer, but it absolutely saved an extra base hit. I stood. I cheered. I thought, “this is the play that you need if you’re going to see history.” I was excited, and I was wrong.