The car was silent as the Clarke family raced against the clock, tension thick in the air. Mr. Clarke's gaze kept flittering between the clock on the radio and the highway in front of him. Mrs. Clarke kept tapping her perfectly polished blood red nails on the center console next to her. 12 year old twins Benji and Brielle were sitting in the back seat staring out their respective window.

Time seemed to tick away as their destination seemed to get farther and farther away. Mr. Clarke only pressed his foot harder on the pedal. They couldn't be late. Unspeakable things would happen if they were later.

Mr. Clarke's somewhat reckless driving paid off as they finally made it to the gate. He offered the guard everything he needed to be let in, and when he finally parked, the family was out and running.

They went through several other checks on their way to their final destination - metal detectors and bag checks - before being allowed entry. Once they cleared everything, however, the were pushing past the nearly unmovable throng of people. Mr. Clarke's gaze was glued his watch as the frantic family of four continue to fight their way through the hoard.

The seconds were ticking down, but their target destination was finally within view. They made one last push, weaving in and out of the crowd, their hearts beating out of their chests. They sat down in their seats right as they saw an arm rear all the way back and release the hurdling object towards the three people standing 90 feet away.

SSTRIIIIKKEE ONE!

Mr. Clarke let out a deep sigh and with relief almost palpable, panted, "We made it."

Next to him, Mrs. Clarke chuckled and jokingly chided, "You're far to superstitious for your own good, my dear. But yes, we were sitting down for first pitch, so we're obliviously going to win the game."