There's just something different about an early morning game.

The brightness of a newborn sun during pregame throws, the feeling of dew-soaked socks from a warm-up run, the tired eyes and caffeine-clenching hands of coaches and fans alike. All combined, they make you feel more alive than you were the day before. Like everything is new although nothing has changed. Like you have the chance to start over and do something truly special.

And there was something especially different about our early morning game on Sunday at the Citrus Classic in Orlando, Florida.

It was intangible. Indescribable, really. But, you could feel it in the air like you could feel the impending humidity that was approaching us like a freight train; there was no mistaking its arrival.

A switch in game times had us set to go to battle at 9 a.m. ET with the mighty Minnesota Golden Gophers, No. 11 in the Division I softball rankings and a squad whose stature made them the Goliath to our David.

We had lost three straight, including a nine-inning heartbreaker to Maryland on Friday afternoon, before being rained out on Saturday. Worse yet, we were enduring a team identity crisis; a lack of knowing who we were and, more important, who we would become for Atlantic 10 Conference play.

With several position changes, including my own from third base to catcher, a mixture of new players, and an overall lack of cohesiveness, things just weren't jibing between us. Even the wins felt forced, ungratifying. And while we had won more games than we had lost through 15 contests, things just didn't feel right between the white lines.

In the midst of this identity crisis, following our third loss in as many games and the second straight defeat of that Friday afternoon, our coaches sat us down beyond the left-field fence at the ESPN Wide World of Sports Complex to hash through our troubles, and find the answers that were evading us. Our head coach, Bridget [Orchard], told us to get comfortable because we weren't leaving that spot until we had those answers.

So, like any good students would, we all sat down and got ready to learn. For the next 45 minutes, we took turns raising our hands and giving input about what was broken and how to fix it before it was too late. We couldn't wait around any longer for things to fix themselves. We had worked too hard to let our season slip away from us. We had to come together now.

So, in varied tones and approaches, each of us delivered our own musings about the problems that were causing us to play as individuals instead of a collective:

"We are playing tight."

"We are too mental."

"We aren't having fun."

Following our insights, Bridget reminded us that we needed every member of our team onboard and doing their part if we were to have a chance at being great. We had to accept our roles and play an unselfish brand of ball that put the team before the self, plain and simple.

We adjourned and dispersed, with much to think about and reflect upon.

The gloomy weather outside the following day seemed to match the state of our team: cloudy, tumultuous and uncertain. While searching for things to keep us occupied in place of our cancelled softball games and studying for our upcoming midterms, we spent much of the rainy day letting the messages from the previous afternoon's meeting sink in.

Maybe it was the effect of a day of rest and a good night's sleep, or just a day away from the game, but the feeling around our team completely changed on that sunny Sunday morning. When we stepped outside of our Marriott hotel, it was like the rays of sunshine that had been hidden for the past two days were illuminating not only the sights around our hotel, but also the areas around our hearts and minds before our final game of the weekend.

So, when we arrived at the field on Sunday before 8 a.m., we felt more than just the wonder of an early morning game; we felt the hope that something great was on the horizon. And it most certainly was.

The plate umpire's signal to play ball in the top of the first inning beckoned both the start of our game against Minnesota and the onset of an onslaught; the freight train had finally arrived.

In that first inning alone, each member of our starting lineup reached base and scored. We batted one through nine without recording a single out. That first inning was emblematic of us all accepting our roles and executing them, exactly as we had discussed in our most desperate moments just two days before. We passed the bat from teammate to teammate, and operated as a well-oiled machine. It was a beautiful sight to see.

Eight hits, three walks and nine runs later, and it could very well have been the most successful first inning in Fordham softball history.

While we were experiencing it, it felt supernatural, even dreamlike. Like everything was new although nothing had changed. It was unlike anything I had witnessed or been part of on the softball diamond.

Fast-forward six and a half innings, and we ended up pulling off the upset by a final score of 10-5. Despite the appearance of the score, Minnesota truly battled. They scraped and clawed and showed the mark of a true winner: the belief that victory is always possible, no matter what the score of the game is. No doubt, a great lesson for us to take note of.

But the biggest lesson of the weekend was about us: We can be good, even very good, individually. But, we can only be great together.

And, whether it was due to a stroke of some early morning madness, or a long-overdue realization of our potential and acceptance of our roles, great we were that Sunday in Orlando.

So, in my mind, the season just began, and we are now 1-0. Everyone has a role, and we all know what that is. Although nothing will be perfect and we will definitely encounter our fair share of challenges throughout the rest of our journey together, we are ready for all that lies ahead.

In the meantime, let's hope for added switches in game times that will give us some more early morning games.



