Article and Video on ESPNWThere are few things in my college softball experience that compare to the feeling I get when stepping into the batter's box at our home field in the Bronx. Cue the song I selected to accompany my walk to the plate, the sound of the announcer's hyperbolic voice as he says my name and number over the loudspeaker, and the cheers of our fans encouraging my success, and it's just about the most empowering 30 seconds one can imagine during a game.
Even in the winter of my softball life, I still get butterflies when I come to the plate at Bahoshy Softball Field on Fordham's beautiful Rose Hill campus. These aren't the nervous butterflies that make you sweaty or jittery. Rather, they are of the "Wow, is this really my life because this is so cool" variety. And while my name and number haven't changed in the four years I've donned the maroon and white, hearing them announced to our crowd still feels as new and special to me now as it did when I was a freshman.
Maybe Dorothy was actually talking about softball when she said, "There's no place like home," because to me, her words directly apply to the place where I love to play. I don't know if my feelings about playing at home are magnified because I get to sleep in my own bed the night before a game, or warm up to familiar sights and sounds, or just because it is an extension of my team's identity, but there is nowhere in the country I would rather play than at Bahoshy Field.
Sure, I've played in more aesthetically pleasing settings over my four-year college career -- from the sunny fields of Florida, to the softball palace of the Oklahoma Sooners in Norman, to the softball equivalent of heaven in Cathedral City, California -- but none has made me feel the way I do while playing at home.
I walk a little taller, turn my headphones up a little louder and feel a bit more excited to go to battle on game day in the Bronx because of the pride that comes with protecting our house and honoring the championship banners that hang on our left-field fence.
In one of my favorite Bahoshy Field memories, I recall the waning moments of last season's Atlantic 10 championship game, from which we punched our ticket to the NCAA tournament for the second straight year. Leading 11-0 with just three outs remaining, I turned from my position at third base toward our senior shortstop,
Elise Fortier, who also happens to be my best friend, and told her to take it all in. In her final moments playing on Bahoshy Field, I wanted Elise to remember the sounds of deafening cheers as we emerged from the top step of our stone-cladded third base dugout, the sight of a packed house of fans filling in the empty spaces beyond the white lines, and mostly, the feeling of home field dirt under her cleats with the taste of victory looming and the satisfaction of knowing that her job had been well done.
With my own days in a Fordham uniform now winding down, I often remind myself of that moment I shared with Elise some 11 months ago. Lately, I have made a conscious effort to take my own quiet time to savor similarly fleeting and precious Bahoshy Field moments. Whether it is during my pregame walk over to the field, in between innings as I warm up our pitcher behind home plate, or after games while Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York" serenades our stadium, I have been doing my best to truly appreciate and soak in every second of this incredible playing experience I'm afforded by being a Fordham Ram, whether the scoreboard indicates a Fordham win or loss at the end of seven innings.
I know I'll forever miss the feelings that playing at Bahoshy Field has provided me with for four years, but no matter how far life may take me away from Fordham after my playing days end, I'll never feel too far from the field that has been my home away from home. And until the last out is recorded in the Bronx, I'll still get butterflies just before my name and number are announced, as if hearing them fill the speakers for the very first time.
