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As the sun rose over the horizon I was already on my way to an early morning tournament game with my baseball team. I knew that if we lost todays game that we would be eliminated from the tournament and would be sent home. I had almost no belief that we would win today because the team we were scheduled to play was ranked number one in the tournament. I knew that the rest of the team felt the same way. When we arrived we just sat in the parking lot not wanting to get out of the car and into the bone chilling air. After about fifteen minutes we finally exited our vehicles so we could stretch, throw, and hit before the game. As soon as I got outside the blistering cold hit my face and I knew it was going to be a long, hard day. As we entered
As I look back on my life, I can see how a lot of certain events have shaped my life. Where it They helped me become more independent, have some of the greatest accomplishments, and understand the importance of living your own life.
It was the beginning of a new softball season, and I couldn't wait to get out there with my team. At our first practice I remember feeling back at home on the field. Just when I thought this was going to be our teams best season, my parents moved me to a private school. Leaving what I was familiar with was not an easy task, and deciding if I would continue my passion of softball with a different team was even more difficult.
We went down by the players to try to get an autograph, and I was right next to Charles tillman! The person next to me got his autograph but I got a high five. When I sat back down I felt the cold plastic from the seat. The game started and the sun started to come out. The warm rays shined on my side of the stadium so it got a little warmer.
As I lay on my bed, that night I could still hear the umpire calling “ballgame” and solidifying victory and our mark on Mountain Grove Softball history. The adrenaline and excitement of the moment were still running through my veins as my mind started to drift. I soon found myself thinking of
As a kid, I was born and raised to love the great game of baseball. Many young kids have had dreams to become professional athletes, and achieve prestigious awards/ titles. Like many kids I’ve always dreamed of becoming a professional baseball player. As a younger kid with my head in the clouds, I never really knew what it was like to put my actual blood, sweat, and tears into something I loved, until my worst season I had ever played. This whole story starts in the beginning of my ninth grade baseball season. It started out different from every other year because, of course I was a freshman. This was the first year I had ever practiced with the varsity squad, it was much more difficult, but I still figured I was going to do great. After weeks
I looked in their faces and knew mine mirrored theirs. I didn’t want it to, but it did. Just ten minutes ago, we all were so jubilant. We were so sure we were going to win. We had all wanted it for so long, but we finally felt is as our destiny just a few moments ago. But as our opponent threw the ball in the air, I knew she was just about to serve another ace. However, when the ball landed three feet in front of our best passer, something snapped inside of me.
Growing up, I have always had a passion for baseball. To me, it is much more than just a sport. There have been times when it has acted as an escape from many problems in my life, as I feel that when I am on the diamond, nothing can hurt me. I am aware that many people feel this way about the sport they love, but sadly their careers often come to an abrupt end due to injury. I have a personal connection to this experience. The summer before my fourth grade year I was attending a basketball camp at Davidson College, when in the final seconds of a scrimmage game, my ankle was kicked out from under me. I immediately fell to the ground in pain as my ankle rolled over on itself. Coaches aided me in limping off of the court and to the training room
Baseball was my life for fifteen years; learning values and tracing favorite memories back to my baseball journey make me grateful for these experiences. However, after a year of playing baseball in college while battling an injury, I decided to alter my goals; ultimately choosing to leave baseball behind. Finishing out the school year and anticipating what I might expect in the future left me feeling lighter; I believed I made the right choice. While on summer break, reflecting on my decision and thinking about my next journey, I became uncomfortable: I was no longer athletically active; I was no longer dedicated to a team, and I did not anticipate the search to find myself would leave me feeling uneasy. My fresh start began by transferring
I have been playing softball since the age of six. From the time I could walk, my dad had me out in our yard teaching me how to swing a bat and throw a ball. Growing up, softball is all I have known. Both of my parents played softball and baseball growing up and in college. They both have taught me everything they know about the sport. Softball has taught me more than the physical aspect of the game. In softball a player can strike out seven out of ten times and still be considered a good hitter. Everyone has rough days, but I have realized that I just need to come back the next day and work harder. My parents have showed me that working hard at it will help me succeed. Whenever I have a bad game, instead of getting down, I take it as motivation to try harder the next time.
As I layed in my bed on a cold and windy Friday night, i could hear the roar from Fenway park across the street. The Red Sox had a game tonight against their long time rival the New York Yankees. Their games would always be so thrilling and so exciting to be at, i was a young 15 year old boy who like everyone else wanted to be a MLB baseball player. I had always dreamed about playing on that beautiful and playing against those Yankees. Living in Boston mostly everyone here absolutely hates the yankees. I was having a hard time going to bed so i looked outside and was looking at all the people outside walking outside the Ballpark.
With seconds to spare I arrived at batting practice and began to prepare for my game. I hear coach call out my name and as I he acknowledged that I was there he told me I was pitching. My brain shifted and went into a whole new mode, I was more focused and more determined than I have ever been. This was the biggest baseball game of my career and I 'm starting on the mound. Honestly it couldn 't have turned out any better, the fate of the pin and my team lied in my hands and I loved the pressure. The pressure made me thrive and before I knew it our team was marching onto the field for the national anthem. During the singing of the national anthem I peeked into the crowd and first row down the first base side was the little boy I met on the cart and his dad sitting right next to him. This game was for that little boy, I needed to impress him. I pitched six strong innings and my team ended up winning the game. It was the most exciting game of my career and the best part was being greeted with the best pin in the tournament after such a spectacular win. The little boy ran out into the middle of the field where we shook our opponents hands and in front of everyone in the stadium handed me the only thing I cared about besides winning. I was in the best mood for the rest of the day and I rewarded myself with a nice long sleep. I could only image what the next day had to
I encountered a “bump in the road” at a young age. I began playing softball at age six when Kylie, my elementary school friend, came to show and tell with her first place T-ball trophy. At the time, I had only played soccer, but the thought of swinging a bat as hard as I could and having people in the stands cheer for me, inspired me to ask my mother to register me for the local recreational league. Before I knew it, I was lacing up last year’s soccer cleats and stepping up to bat in my first coach-pitch softball game. My father, being the coach, stood on the mound and lobbed in the fattest meatball every hitter dreams of. With the ding of my second-hand garage sale bat, the ball sailed over the shortstop. Some may have called it beginner's luck, but I called it a sign.
All we had to do was beat a team we had beat numerous times before and then we would be in the finals. Easy right? So we thought. Going into that game I did not expect to feel the heartbreak that I did when it ended. Finally, game day had arrived; in the first inning, things seemed to be going as planned, we were up five or six runs. By the fourth inning, we were down nine to five and it only went downhill from there. My heart started to ache and the feeling of frustration flew through my body. As the ninth inning rolled around we were still losing and we could not get it
As a kid growing up I sparkled at the chance to shine in any sport. I particularly loved playing baseball and being known for making a great play of getting a big hit that turns the tides of the game. Every chance I would get to do something spectacular I would jump at the opportunity. I wanted so badly to be the one who was up to bat with two outs at the bottom of the last inning with winning runners on base. I seen those as golden opportunities and found them to be the most defining points of my baseball career growing up. I would have to say I didn’t like the outcome if it did not go in my favor. On one day during the prime of my baseball years I did what I had always wanted too, and that was to hit a walk off to win the game.
The misty damp air gave us the impression that our game could be postponed or at least maybe a game where we would be drenched with other liquids than sweat. The building where we spent the time before the game was filled with the smell of hot dogs and hamburgers. The people preparing them watched us in the thought that we would feel defeat. It put an awkward silence in the room. We were there to prove them wrong and that is what we planned to do. As we got closer to game time the building seemed to fill more with these people who had doubt in us.