Personal Narrative: Pitch's Game

It was a scorching 100 degree summer day. It was the start of the 11 year state championship baseball game against Albert Lea, I still remember that game like it was yesterday. It was miserable out we played three games that day before reaching the state championship. When the game started I kind of forgot about how hot it was out. We started fast scoring 2 runs in the top of the 1st inning Dylan and Reno each crossed the plate that inning. Derek took the hill to pitch, he started with 2 strikeouts and a lazy fly ball to left field. Then I was up to start the top of the second inning and I watched the first two pitches pass for balls and then on the third pitch of the at bat I hit a line drive to left field for a single but the next three batters all got out. Tanner got up and said

Baseball was in my blood. Some of my earliest memories include batting cages with my Dad, sliding into home plate and throwing my first curve ball. By eight years old, I was playing ball year-round on travel teams and loving every minute of it. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that this was my sport, and I would play it in high school and possibly beyond. But, during the summer of 2010, the unthinkable happened. Picking up a golf club for the first time, I fell in love with a new game. I played every chance I got that summer. Begging my parents for clubs and lessons, my passion grew and most of the following summer was spent on the golf course, not the baseball field.

A field shaped like a diamond followed by a meadow of grass. Sixty foot base paths that surrounds the infield in a counterclockwise direction. A batting count of three balls and two strikes. Three outs total in all seven innings of pure determined, back and forth softball between two teams. This place has been my home for years. I play softball because of the love I have for the game, and because of the feeling that takes my breath away every time I step onto the field. The softball field at Glendale Community College is now my new home for the next two years.

With the herbaceous smell of freshly cut grass and the salty taste of sunflower seeds, a baseball field strikes me as a place where I feel perfectly content. The wonderful home of the sport I have loved as long as I can remember brings a sense of calmness. Baseball fields remind me of great memories, give me a strong sense of confidence, and cause me to strive for a greater future.

The day was June 13, 2015. This day is a day that will always teach me something new and life mending every time that I bring it up. The score was set 3-5 top third of the 4th inning, our 3 hole up to bat and the count being 3-1 next pitch determined if he was on base or in a full count jam. The next pitch was a ball, meaning he was walked and then took his base and this loaded the bases for me to step to the plate and bat, this was the nerve racking part of sports when your team needs you and you can or cannot deliver on the gift. I had one pitch and the ball was flying further and further until it hit the ground right at the foot of the fence and I was running and the ball was being relayed back into first and then to third where I was running to. The ball meets my leg a second after my foot hit the bag so I was safe, but I look up at the ump and he expresses his call in out, meaning the third run does not count

I take one foot out of the box and let out a breathe I didn’t know I was holding in. I once again looked to my coach Mike for direction and go to take a practice swing. Little did I know the catcher was getting up to pressure Maddy back to first base from her lead. As I was taking my swing I heard a thud, my bat had hit something solid. I immediately filled with remorse and tensed up. My bat suddenly got heavy with guilt. The catcher dropped the ball and fell to her knees clutching her back. I went limp and looked around confused and shocked. I didn’t know what to do so I started walking towards the dugout. Timmy met me halfway and put his hand on my shoulder I looked up at him and that’s when I realized tears were streaming down my face. I felt weak like a helpless child. Timmy reassured me that it wasn’t my fault. “You have the right to have one foot in the box and take practice swings, it’s going to be ok,” he said, but I wasn’t really paying attention to him. I looked around at my team and the crowd they were all shocked like me. I could hear the girl’s muffled sobs from where I was standing. “Do I really hit that hard?” I thought to myself. The other team’s coaches walked the catcher back to the dugout and a new girl came in. I reassured Timmy I would be fine then walked back the box. The game resumed and I got

At three years old, I fell in love, and it's a love affair that has continued to this day. All I remember is wanting to hit with my dad every second of every day. Now if you go ask him, he will probably take credit for how good I've become as a player. But that's another story on its own. Baseball has had my heart ever since my little hands were big enough to pick up a bat. Recently, I experienced the most important moment in my baseball career to date on one sunny weekend at a baseball field in Cartersville, just northwest of Atlanta.

I was in my Junior season for football, and it was looking to be a good one. We started off doing well, but we struggled at time, though we bent but didn’t break. We kept at perfect record of 5-0 heading into our homecoming game, and we had just came off a huge last second victory over a top-rated team in the state. I was injured during that game but failed to tell anyone, failure number one. I told myself that I was going to play the homecoming game because we were playing the worst team in the state and figured I couldn’t hurt myself any worse, failure number two. That game I ended up tearing my ACL on the 8th play of the game, and just like Tony Gwynn’s world, three strikes you’re out. Indeed I was, I was out for six months with five months of therapy. I was in a failure hole, and was looking to stay in that hole, but I soon realized that I can either sit and pout or come back better than I was the first time. My decision was to come back better, that was one step forward. For five months I went through the most grueling therapy I could imagine, but I never game up and I stuck to the plan that my therapist gave me, step two forward. I recovered so fast that I made it in time to play baseball in the summer, and later went on to be named All-Area team and All-district, step three forward. Finally, the time had arrived for me to play football again and prove to myself and others that I was better than before. We had another great season and won our first playoff game since 2005. I did so well that I earned first team All-District and third team All-State honors. I was one of the five from my team that made that list, that was step four forward, and just like Gwynn I took four steps and I was standing back on home plate, for I had hit a metaphorical home

For a young baseball player one of the highest goals to achieve is hitting a homerun -for me that was all I wanted. I already achieved most of what I wanted in baseball, and one of my proudest was a no-hitter, but it was no home run. When I first realized how bad I wanted this feat was one night after a practice where all we did was just hit. The majority of my teammates hit at least one homerun that practice, but me I hit the fence but never was able to send one over. The car ride home after the practice was horrible, I was a mess. I told my mom, “ I’m horrible at this game, I get so close everytime and I just can’t hit a ball over the fence.”

The tying run was up to bat. The first pitch he had hit the ball far into right field. Dane Kutnik had turned on the jets, but he couldn’t even catch up to the ball. The ball had rolled all the way to the fence. May I remind you that we played on a 300 foot fence. I still cannot believe that he had thrown the ball all the way to the cut without the ball bouncing once. Tanner had been lined up perfect with me and the second he felt the ball in his glove he had rifled it to me. I had turned 180 degrees and reached in the general area that I thought he would

Blinded by the sunlight I still tried to withstand its power and held my glove out to catch the incoming pop fly. Before I knew it, the ball was directly in front of my face and hit me on top of my forehead. I cried, nevertheless I was still determined to stay in my third base spot that I earned. That was strike one. My first at bat was my best at bat. It was not an impressive hit and the only reason why it was not caught is because the outfielder was in her own world. In my next three at bat 's the pitcher hit me every single time leaving me without a chance to redeem myself.I still got on base but I consider this strike Two. At the end of the game my team decided to go to Steak and Shake. Strike three happened as soon as I got out of the car

A couple of our guys got on, but then I was up to bat. I was so excited. I got up there and decided that I was going to take the first pitch (not swing at it) to get my timing to make sure I get a hit. Ball one, I step out of the box taking another practice cut. I got back in the box and waited for the next one. The umpire calls, “Strike one!” I thought it wasn’t a strike, but I went with it because I didn’t want to get into a fight. I step out of the box, fix my batting gloves and take another swing the get back in. The next pitch comes and you could hear a “DING”. I swung and hit it down the right field line. I ran as hard as I could and got a double. The next batter struck out and ended the

My team and I watching from the crowd, as Clarkstown and New City battle it out to advance to the next round. The sun beaming down on us like we were asphalt on a summer day, and getting in our eyes causing us to put on eye black. I can’t help myself and smell hot pretzels being made so my dad and I buy one and share it before the game ends. The game finishes, 4-3 in favor of Clarkstown, my coach tells us to go to the out field to stretch and throw if you were a parent in the stands all you would see would be 10 bright white baseballs flying back and forth. The umpires soon arrive and our three coaches call us over, to say “We did not try this hard and make it this far to lose, so let's go get that win boys!” my team replied with “Let’s go

One day, Bobby went to his baseball game in Miami, Florida. His game was at 7:00 p.m. and he lives 2 hours away from Miami. He had to be there at 4:30 p.m. Bobby left at 2:00 p.m. and arrived there at 4:15 p.m. Bobby went to the locker room and got ready for the game with his teammates. Batting practice started in one hour. Bobby’s team was wearing their throwback jerseys.

The time has come, baseball season is in full swing! Now that basketball has long since ended, it’s time for America’s greatest pastime to begin. Not to knock other sports, but come on. What’s more American than baseball, hot dogs, peanuts, and Crackerjacks? Captained by the Clark brothers Matt and Cam, the Panthers look to improve on their weak record of last Spring (two, maybe three wins?) and compete in a high powered Mayflower League. As is the case more often than not, the Panthers’ baseball team will consist of many underclassmen such as myself, and even more middle schoolers. Needless to say, we have a young team. As is also often the case, we will still to the best of our ability put in the work and effort necessary to succeed. Even