INDIANAPOLIS (WISH) — “Don’t embarrass us.”

That’s what my wife, Jennifer, said to me about a half an hour before I was set to throw out the first pitch at the Indianapolis Indians game. No pressure!  

She was joking, but I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t a bit nervous. But why? I’ve played baseball my entire life. It’s just one pitch. It should’ve been easy. It wasn’t, not by a long shot. 

After a couple hours of previewing the big moment live on WISH-TV during our evening newscasts, plus several weeks of talking and thinking about it, the time arrived. 

“You’re up, Phil,” said the young man in a crisp Indianapolis Indians polo shirt to me. It was put up or shut up time. No backing out now. 

With my son’s glove on my left hand and the ball tucked inside, I made my way to the pitcher’s mound. One step, two, three, and there was the foul line. The line that I’ve always been taught to never step on (baseball players are so superstitious), I made sure to step over it, and with that, I was a little leaguer again. With every step, my wife, kids and Indianapolis Indians employees (crisp polo shirt guy included) became farther and farther away. The walk became lonelier and lonelier.

“I don’t want to embarrass myself” I said to the Indians player who was given the task of catching my throw. I found out later his name was Isaac Mattson. 

“Just get it near the plate. You’ll be fine” Mattson said with a smile.

The walk continued. The pitcher’s mound didn’t feel this far when I did this thousands of times as a kid. 

“You’ve been here a lot, Phil. you’re good.” I said to myself. 

Another step, and another. Finally, there I was. 60 feet 6 inches away from home plate. It never felt so far. 

“Please turn your attention to pitcher’s mound and give a round of applause a warm welcome to WISH-TV anchor Phil Sanchez” the PA announcer said. 

A light applause followed, I briefly wave. It was time.

I wind up and release, the ball floating in the air.

“Please let it make it over the plate” I thought. 

BOOM. Made it. Didn’t bounce it. Didn’t overthrow. Got it over, albeit a little low, and a little slower than I would’ve preferred. 

The whole thing lasted seconds, but felt like hours. 

“Great job” Mattson said after the ball landed in his glove. 

And just like that, it was over. We take a picture, and I walked off the field, instinctively stepping over the line again. Old habits and all. 

My son Shea said he would’ve crushed my pitch. He would’ve. My wife and daughter were happy that I didn’t embarrass them, even though they said they were joking.

For a brief moment, I got to be a kid again. 

To steal a line from the movie “Moneyball“: “It’s hard not to be romantic about baseball.”

Thanks a million to the Indianapolis Indians for having me.