Personal Narrative Analysis

Two Strikes And A Hit

I had two strikes on me, one more and my season would be over. This was the state tournament, and we were tied at the last inning with a man on third base. I recall the pitcher nodding his head at the catcher, took aim, then fired the ball down the plate. The field fell silent until the smack of my bat making contact with the ball sent the crowd wild. Our man ran past home plate. The game was over and we had won. The feeling of joy, pleasure, and satisfaction could barely describe what I had. I savor this memory and think it one of my favorites because I can look back at it and relive the joy. Not to mention every time I remember this memory and other like it, it gives me direction and a goal to strive for. A truly satisfying

Our opponent was a team we had beaten twice in the regular season so there was a glimmer of hope amongst the team; however, that glimmer faded when we lost the game zero to three. Now there was no chance of making it to the championship game. To make matters worse there was even talk of calling it quits. Some of the players did not want to stay for the second game, but win or lose we were here to play baseball and that is what we did. The whole team tried to get pumped for the last game some of us would ever have together and, regardless of the rain and thunder, we took to the field ready for whatever was about to come. The game was under way and right from the start we stopped them from getting a run, but yet they did the same to us. We would score then so would they, and then they would get a score and so did we. Seven long innings this continued until we stopped them again, but this time there would be no more chances for them to score. All we had to do was make one run and we would win.

Excitement flowed thought out the crowd as our first batter managed to get four balls and walk to first base. I remember thinking as I put on my helmet, ready to bat soon, that we now had a chance. The next batter, who I had all the confidence in the world to get on base, stuck out, but not before the man on first stole to second. My turn was

The pitcher threw outside the strike zone to see if I would reach for the ball but this mistake allowed our man on second to steal to third. The coach gave me a different signal. This time to bunt. I had never bunted in a game before and barley could do it in practice, but you don not argue with Coach. Again the picture threw the ball and this time I held the bat out so the ball would hit the bat then drop to the ground. The plan worked and I took off for first. I knew I was bait but I did not care. I ran as fast as I could because if I was thrown out at first it would have meant I gave enough time to the man on third to make it home. “Foul ball!” I could not believe all that work was for nothing. I ran back to the plate and Coach gave me the same signal. The ball came at me another time and another time I bunted the ball and took off. “Foul ball!” The Umpire was killing me. The opposite team’s coach called a timeout and walked over to his pitcher. I jogged over to our coach who was talking to the man on third and remember thinking to myself This is your last shot, two outs two strikes. You have to do this. Coach told me I was doing fine but not to bunt anymore. I chuckled. A thousand pounds fall off of me when he told me there was only one out and not to worry. He patted me on the shoulder and said, “Swing away.” This