The Highest Stand (Home Run Edition)

Chapter 1: Showing Up

As always, I arrived at the Olympic stadium early on race day. I didn't like to feel rushed. The officials checked my identification and let me in with a smile. The weather was perfect. The rain cleared and the day was starting to heat up. I found an area on the field and set up my base camp for the next hour.

Warm up laps helped me focus before a big race. Some athletes hate warming up, saying it only makes them more nervous. Not me. I could talk myself right out of being nervous. Two more laps, Dede. Watch those sprinkler holes. Don't want to sprain an ankle thirty minutes before the biggest race of your life.

The grass beneath my feet was the brightest green possible. The problem was, I couldn't take my eyes off of it. Concentrate on running, Dede, I told myself. And quit looking at the ground! Okay, go through the checklist. Arms look good, wrists are relaxed, thumbs are up. Legs? Hamstring's tight on the left leg, spend a little more time stretching. Head? Jaw's loose, neck straight. Motion? Good. Bouncy, feeling light, paw the ground with every step. I stared back down at my feet making sure that I wasn't stomping the green grass.

That last warm up lap was way too quick. Now I'm feeling hot. I shouldn't have worn the sweatshirt under my jacket. Slow down, Dede. Remember that hamstring. Give it time to catch up to the rest of your body.

Colin Beckham, Great Britain's finest track-star, flew by. Don't look. Pretend you don't see him. Too late, he saw you staring. Man, he looks good today. I guess he's all right after hitting that hurdle last round. Colin's body was designed for this race. He's built like a sprinter and is really flexible. Breaking that world record must have seemed easy for him.

I slowed down a bit. You're too hot, Dede. Walk the rest of the way. Stop here and stretch. Go slow. Follow your program. Today's your day.

I finished my last lap and went to get some water. I was careful not to drink too much and cramp up. I sipped from the tiny paper cup and heard a familiar voice from behind the fence. "How you feeling, Champ?" Coach Ken Matsu was watching me from the stands

.

"Matsu" had been my coach since my senior year in high school. I looked up from my stretching position. "Feeling good, Matsu," I said, hiding the fact that my left hamstring continued to scream. "Good," he replied with an unsure look on his face.

The warm up field was small, about the size of a basketball court. Coaches, fans and friends stood behind the chain-link fence. The area buzzed with excitement.

The seven men who stood in the way of my dream ran and stretched around me. Colin Beckham warmed up on the other side of the field. He attracted a crowd that included some of his competitors. Fellow Brit, Nigel Thorton, and Canadian, Vander Parks, huddled around Colin like children. As for me, I stood alone. Mike Stone, a fellow American and my close friend, didn't qualify for the medal round. This left myself and Tommy Johnston, as the only Americans in the race.

I was last to the practice hurdles. I took my time jumping the obstacles, as if to say, "I'm cool and ready." As I took a few more hurdles, everything started to feel right. I felt the others begin watching me. That's right, they couldn't count the old man out of the race just yet.

This was the third time I had been an Olympian. Some of these kids were still in grade school when I raced in Tokyo. Others were college athletes when I fell short in Paris. They all knew me. I bet none of them expected to see me here warming up. But what they didn't know was my determination. I'd been chasing down gold for most of my life. Yes, I'm thirty-one years old, and yes, my body has aged. But so has my mind. I've been running this race for fifteen years and my desire has never been stronger.

"Go for it Savage!" an excited fan yelled out.

I looked up to where the shout came from and waved. I noticed a group of four young boys sprinting back into the stadium. With ice-cream cones in hand, they scrambled for their seats. What caught my eye was the boy trailing a few yards behind. The four leading boys hurried into the stadium as though he wasn't there. I watched him and I felt sad. I knew exactly what he was going through. I went through the same thing. Pictures of myself, a small, nerdy, twelve-year-old, quickly came to mind.

"I got Tim." Isaac Gwynn rumbled in a gruff voice. "Ike," as he was better known, stood a full four inches over the rest of us. We waited quietly, until we heard our names called for a game of touch football.

Tim, who was always on Ike's team, took position behind his mean captain. Tony, the other captain, knew the drill. They'd picked these teams a million times. And even though he and Ike were always captains, Tony never had first pick.

"Paul," Tony pointed with some pleasure.

"Rudy," said Ike, glaring back at Tony. Paul and Rudy went to their spots. Tony pretended to struggle with his next decision. He only paused trying to outthink Ike, but the end result was the same. "I'll take Joe," he finally said.

I was small, so no one could see me in the middle of the group. Even if they had noticed me, there was no chance they were going to pick me.

"Drew," Ike sighed.

"George," Tony snapped quickly.

I fidgeted, as the crowd shrunk to three: Edward, the new kid, and myself. The new kid hadn't been tested yet. I felt like I'd be a pretty safe bet. In the captains' minds, however, smelly old socks were more welcome than I was.

Usually, my friends Howard and Jerry attended these games with me. This made things a little easier because the three of us got picked on together. But the other day, Jerry tripped Ike by accident when he was going out for a pass. Ike got so angry that he punched Jerry in the stomach as hard as he could. You don't know Jerry, but he's even skinnier than I am. So when Ike's fist landed in his stomach, Jerry leaned over and puked on Ike's foot. And that's when things got even worse. Howard tried to help Jerry to his feet and Ike punched him in the head. I wished I could have stood up for my friends, but there was nothing I could do. Ike was too big and strong.

When I saw Howard and Jerry the next day, they said they were retired from football. So, with my best friends at home, I'd be facing the abuse alone today.

I decided to show up to the game anyway. To tell you the truth, I was pretty scared. After all, Ike's shoes were still speckled with Jerry's lunch. And now, there was only one nerd left to pick on, me, Dede Savage. Even though I knew this, I thought maybe they would leave me alone.

It was Ike's turn to pick now. With only three of us to choose from I smiled at him peacefully. "Not a chance Deidra. I'll take the new kid, and Edward, you're with them."

Great, picked last again. I kicked at a pile of dirt and took my place behind Tony.

"Our ball," Tony barked. "Huddle up," he called out and the five of us grouped together. As always, Tony quarterbacked and called all the plays. He was a pro. "Paulie, down and out," he said. "I'll hit you at Mrs. Jackson's mail box." Paul nodded. "Joe, you do the same thing on the other side. Go just past Mr. Washington's car." Joe nodded. "George, hang back and block. If nobody's open I'll dump it to you over the middle." Tony was all business.

"I'll be there," George answered.

Tony continued, "Okay, on three. Ready..."

"Wait! What about me?" They did know I was on their team, didn't they?

George, Paul and Joe looked at me and then turned to Tony. "What about you?" Tony barked, eyeing me down.

"What do I do? Where do you want me to go?" I asked. Tony glared at me. "Should I go long?" I begged Tony.

"No chance. Just hike me the ball and stay out of the way, Deidra."

I stood hunched over the ball as Tony studied the defense. With Ike right on top of me, snorting, Joe, Paul and George waited for my snap. "I'm gonna tear your head off, Deidra." I swallowed hard and braced myself. Ike pointed at Tony over my shoulder, "You're mine and that's a fact of life, T." He taunted. "That's your man Deidra!" Tony pointed at "Spike" nervously.

Ike, or "Spike," stood about three inches from my face. He was a full head taller than me and must have outweighed me by fifty pounds. Being picked last no longer bothered me. I just wanted to stay alive.

"No problem," I said, faking confidence. Ike growled as Tony began the count, "down, set, hut one, hut two, hike!" I hiked the ball and before I looked up, it was over. Ike put a mean hit on me and sent me flying backward into Tony. The three of us fell in a heap for a loss of six yards. When I hit the ground, Ike made sure to step on my fingers. When "Spike Gwynn" was playing, touch and tackle football were the same thing.

Spike jumped up and broke into a goofy celebration dance. When I finally regained my feet, Tony was standing. He spiked the ball just inches in front of me. "You're terrible, Deidra!" There was nothing I could say. Blocking Ike was an impossible task, but Tony didn't care. With my fingers dented and my taped glasses broken, all I could do was take it.

The rest of that afternoon was no different. I'd get in Spike's way and he'd put me on my back. When the game finally ended, I walked home, beaten up and muddied.

On the way back to my house I dreamed that I was running for a touchdown. I was flying past Tony, and stomping over Ike into the end zone. I came back to reality when I heard a honking bicycle horn behind me. I knew that sound anywhere, it was Ike!

Quickly, I turned around. Ike and Tony were racing toward me on their bikes. The moment I saw them, I started sprinting. I knew this routine. They would probably give me another wedgie, or worse, a black eye. "Slow, down Deidra, we just want to talk to you." Tony laughed.

"Yeah, we won't hurt you this time, we promise," Ike snarled, firing a small stone at me. For some reason, I didn't believe him.

The houses in our neighborhood were right next to one another. So rather than staying on the street, where they could find me, I changed my path. I jumped over some bushes and started running through my neighbor's backyards. Tony and Ike hopped off their bikes and gave chase. I could hear them breathing behind me as I jumped over short fences. After running through five or six yards, I couldn't hear them anymore. I was sure I'd outrun them.

Out of breath, I peeked around the corner. No sign of them. All I had to do now was make it across the street. I was almost home, safe and sound. But just as I quietly began moving, I saw them, waiting for me. Tony and Ike were standing in front of my house. There was no place to run.

Fifteen minutes later, I was hanging from my underpants on Mr. Sloan's fence. Ike said that it was my punishment for running away from them. As my boxers slowly ripped, I wondered when I would stop running from Ike and Tony.

An hour later, when Dad came home, he saw me hanging from the fence. I was embarrassed, but also relieved. Now that Mom and Dad knew about this, those bullies would have to stop bugging me. Right?

After dinner that night Mom, Dad and I sat down for a long talk. Talks with my parents were always tough because I'm an only child. This meant that it was always two against one. When Mom saw my torn underpants, she was ready to call Principal Juarez. I knew that those bullies would probably torture me twice as much if Mom called. So I asked her not to, "I can handle these guys, Mom." Just as these words came out of my mouth I wished I could have them back. How the heck could I handle these guys?

Before I could take my comment back, Dad agreed with me. "He's right, Nancy. Let Dede handle it himself," he said. Dad was always in favor of facing fears. He patted me on the back, "once they see you're not afraid, they'll stop."

"Who said I'm not afraid?" I forced a smile as I re-wrapped my glasses in another layer of duct-tape.

Sometimes showing up is the hardest thing to do in life. The next day I went back to the football field. They were choosing sides again and I watched the same teams picked in front of me one by one.

After Ike had run over me for the tenth time, I confronted Tony in the huddle. My heart pounded and my hands shook. "Tony," I called out .

He looked at me and I went blank. "What, Deidra?"

I swallowed, "Tony, you've got to give me a chance. I'm going downfield on this play. If you want score a touchdown, find me." Tony was half listening when I started to speak, but my words grabbed his attention. Everyone stared at him and waited for a response. Looking over at me, he said, "You've got one chance, but I'm only throwing you the ball if you're wide open." I couldn't believe he actually listened to me.

When I moved to the line of scrimmage and lined up, I was excited. I never got to go out for a pass. Right when Tony called "hike," I bolted toward the end zone as fast as I could, shocking everyone. Tim was late following me and when I looked up, I had at least fifteen yards on him. Wide open, I locked eyes with Tony, who didn't want to throw me the ball. But with Ike bearing down on him, he finally heaved a prayer. Ike bowled him over as he let it go, but he was too late. The ball was already spiraling toward me perfectly.

If I keep my speed I'll get it right in stride, I thought. I'd seen a hundred football games on television and knew exactly how to catch a pass. Let it drop over your shoulder and into your hands. Then, pull it into your chest. Here she comes, just squeeze it and score. Tony watched closely as I started to haul it in...only to see me come up empty. The ball slipped right through my fingers. Then it bounced off the ground and came back up to hit me in the mouth. I thought for sure today was my day. Instead, I was face down in the dirt with a bloody lip.

An instant later, Tony was screaming and pushing me. "Come on Deidra, you were wide open. I will never throw you the ball again." I ran to the huddle, fighting back tears. I'd missed my chance.