One rule became immediately clear while working on my first article as a reporter: Athletes aren't the only ones sweating at sporting events.Being a sportswriter requires its own rigorous training and split-second decision making, and I will never forget the fateful day this summer when my lack of verbal endurance caused me to suffer a sudden-death loss.

I worked for my hometown paper this summer reporting on the Brooklyn Cyclones baseball team, a Single-A affiliate of the New York Mets, and had the privilege of covering one of the longest games in professional baseball history: a grueling 26-inning marathon between the Cyclones and the Oneonta Tigers that lasted 6 hours and 40 minutes (for those keeping track, the longest professional baseball game of all-time was a 33-inning affair between the Pawtucket Red Sox and Rochester Red Wings in 1981.)

I was sitting in the cozy press box the whole time, seemingly not exerting myself at all-but I was drained. The result was a mental meltdown during the post-game press conference.

In what should have been a Top Ten play of my reporting summer, I hit the Cyclones' assistant manager Scott Hunter with a pointed question about his ultimately game-losing decision to send designated hitter Mark Wright to the pitcher's mound. The move happened in the 25th inning, when, to my amazement, Wright trotted out to the mound. He then proceeded to pitch a one-two-three inning-pretty nifty coaching you say? Those were my feelings, until Wright trounced out again in the 26th, with eight other pitchers on the Cyclone roster still sitting on the bench. As expected, Wright the ace went into hiding and Wright the hitter took the mound, promptly giving up five runs. Game over. Finally.

I was stunned by this turn of events, but also exhilarated by the reporting opportunity it presented. In such a grueling and hard-fought game, how can a manager keep a designated hitter on the mound with actual pitchers still available? I was ready to grill and skewer the poor guy.

The answer I got from Hunter was even more flabbergasting. He claimed the team just "ran out of pitching", and he didn't want to overtire his staff. He just lied to my face, I thought. They didn't run out of pitching. Even worse, he dared hide behind "not getting his guys tired" when talking about a 26-inning game! It made no sense.

I melted under pressure, just like the Cyclones' hitters. It is just as hard for a reporter to stay focused for 26 innings as it is for a player; just as they couldn't come up with that big hit under pressure, I failed in my job-I didn't ask Hunter a follow-up question. I knew the Cyclones hadn't run out of pitching, but I couldn't summon up the chutzpa to call him out.

I wasn't playing on the field that day, but I was exhausted, nevertheless. I didn't need to step up to the plate and come up with a clutch two-out hit, but I faced a pressurized situation of my own. Such is the life of a journalist: You need to react on the spot to tough situations, and make the right decisions on your feet. And just like any high-pressure performer, I can use such losses as motivation to always perform at my highest level, no matter how grueling it gets. I didn't that day, and my story paid the price.