Baseball Ball Monologue

Ready to do this my dad throws me the ball and I can feel this vibe all over my body and the ball goes right into the glove.

Being forced to go play kickball was nonsense to me. I mean, at nine years old, there’s better things to worry about. I kept hiding in the back of the line avoiding my turn.

I felt my face getting red hot as I raced down the hospital hallway. I bit my lip, slamming into the wall. I pushed myself back and ran into an open elevator. I tried to study the floor numbers but my vision was blurry from the tears building up in my eyes.

Decades ago, scientist in the U.S had figured out how to genetically grow, literally grow dragons in a lab. At first they could only breathe fire and scorch metal into a liquid. Then several rare ones were bred with ice in their chests, letting them be able to freeze a human into a block of ice. Even without their fire and ice, the dragons were huge and powerful, ranging from forty to sixty feet long and fifteen to twenty feet tall while on all four legs. Their claws were around three inches long and razor sharp. The worst thing for the scientist were that they could also fly for hours on end, days if they needed to. Their energy levels were extremely high.

I click my cleats with my bat and dig a hole in the batter's box and stair at the pitcher. The pitch comes in slow almost in slow motion. I swing as hard as can. I hear the crack of the bat and I see the ball fly over the fence. I can't believe it. I never thought in a million years I would ever hit a homerun. I hear my teammates screaming. I round first, I'm almost at second when the shock wears off and I realize that I just won the game. A huge smile crosses my face as I round third and head for home. I get closer and closer to home. I stomp on home. Then before I know it the lights go out.

It was a chilly Monday night as I finished putting on my baseball uniform. I was nervous because it was the championship game. We were playing our rival team, the Yankees. My close friend Tom was their pitcher, and he struck out a lot of people. Tonight, I was going to get a hit off of him. At least I hoped so. I heard a beep in the driveway and realized it was my mom who was ready to go. ¨ Coming Mom!¨ I shouted through the garage door. As I jogged to the car, I could not stop thinking about getting a hit off of Tom.

In the ninth John came in a pitched. He struck out Alex but not me! I hit a grand slam to win the game and the crowd went wild. I went up to John and said good game but he just tried to hurt me. As I was walking home I grew more scarred and excited as each second went by, closer to home where my mom would say if I made the team or not. I see my door, as I slowly walk up to it with the fear of joy or sorrow. I open the door to hear excitement. I had made the team! John had cheated and used a substance to make his pitching faster. So I took his place. I started running up and down jumping and then I ran upstairs and called Alex. He had also made the team and that practice started in two days. We both had done what we wanted to do, make the team and then try to win the World Series. Well one of those things happened. We had to now work hard and as a team to get the other thing. For the rest of the baseball season we would come here on off days and practice, like tomorrow. Now was the big goal, to make it to the World

Lights blaring into my eyes, the crack of the bat, the shouting of the overly-devoted parents, the salty aroma arising off of the freshly roasted peanuts, all came together to create the overwhelming presence of a little league baseball game. This was a place where I spent most of my time on week day afternoons, in the spring, watching my brother succeed at America’s pastime. He was really quite good at this sport called baseball; he had just been granted the position of starting pitcher for the team. Sometimes things that have occurred in my life, and stuff I have received, that I may not have necessarily deserve, can be taken for granted. However, after what was about to take place my eyes are given a new perspective.

I could feel the pitcher’s stress from 200 feet away in the dugout. We were up five at the top of the eighth, but the win was not secure. I could tell the pitcher was struggling to keep his composure. Suddenly, the coach calls me to warm up in the bullpen. I was excited and nervous to enter the game; I knew my warming up would add pressure to the pitcher and this was the Legion Sub-State Semifinal game, which determined our chance to advance to state. By the time I got to the mound, the bases were loaded with two outs. I noticed the packed stadium, felt the sweltering 90 degrees, and sensed the crowd’s tension. I had never pitched against this team, so I relied on communicating with the catcher. I threw a knee high fastball--STRIKE ONE. Next, I threw low and away curveball--STRIKE TWO. The catcher signaled a high fastball, knowing the batter was expecting another curveball. The batter chased the ball--STRIKE THREE. We won the game and moved on to finals. Two hours in the dug out, five minutes in the bullpen, and thirty seconds on the mound--not to mention fifteen hours a week, ten months a year for fifteen years--all culminated in a few seconds to advance

Fresh, cool air flowed into Amber’s lungs. Blindingly bright light stabbed at her eyes and she blinked, blurry vision slowly clearing with each passing moment. There was a hot, painful feeling in her chest, as if fire was knocking at her ribs, trying to escape. Three people dressed in white lab coats and hospital masks surrounded her. She tried to sit upright, but she appeared to be bound to whatever surface she was on.

During my childhood, I grew up in the town of Randolph, Massachusetts. Most of my childhood memories came to be in this town. Throughout my childhood, I had many memories that I still vividly remember to this day; learning how to ride a bike, graduating kindergarten and learning how to read and write. During my childhood, there were days where I felt unstoppable, but there were also days where everything brought me down. Even during these difficult days, there was always a place that I looked forward going to; the baseball field. I began playing baseball when I was about 7 years old; although some people found the sport tedious, I instantly fell in love with the sport. I may have not been a prodigy at the sport, but it was one of the only

The five a.m. cool air surrounded Andrew as if Boreas touched me with his finger. The Luke-warm breeze blew all Andrew’s worries out of his brain as he reached for the make-shift bat Joseph made in the baseball game Andrew is playing. Jonathan stretched his arm and hurtles the ball at Andrew. Andrew felt the ball zooming bigger as it came into view and shots past him.

My supervisor, one of the head nurses, hurriedly pulled me to the corner of the bleach white hospital room and directed me to put on gloves, an eye mask, and a face mask. I felt as if I was preparing for war as I put on all of the required gear. The sound of expensive shoes click-clacked down the hallway indicating the arrival of two doctors who rushed into the room and shouted out orders to the staff while pulling the doors to the room shut along with the curtains. Two doctors, eight nurses, an intern, and a dying patient squeezed into the already claustrophobic ten by fifteen-foot room. The machine monitoring the patient’s vital signs continued to beep incessantly as my heart rate accelerated. Throughout my internship, I had never seen a patient in critical condition until that moment. I remembered my teacher’s advice if we were ever in a situation such as this: take a few deep breaths and sit down if you feel like you’re going to pass out. In that

Through my entire life I had been playing baseball. Baseball was the one thing that consumed my life. It was a job to me, not a passion. That was the first problem that resulted in a complete 360 in my life. When I started to play baseball, it was in a way satisfying and fun. It was something every little kid did over the weekend, as the family watched them sit on the ground pick flowers and play with the dust. Something so simple that made me feel so, existential. It gave me so much, it was great. As I began to realise the potential life this game could give me at around age 9, I began to become serious about baseball. I quickly began to feel like a superstar at the local Little League. “This is great!” I thought. Running circles around everyone, people would come to the field to see MaHall’s team play. As the years grew on, leading my teams to championship games years in a row, it would come crashing down. When I was 11, I was on the Dodgers, we were the best team in the league, and we knew it. Let’s go back in time for a bit. It’s the last inning and we are down by just one. Here I go up to bat with a man on first base. As I walk up to the plate I could hear the catcher say, “oh no.” He knew who I was, as everyone did. “I’ve hit many walk offs and clutch hits before, how was this different?” I remember thinking. Well past Jonnie, here’s how it’s different, it’s the championship game,

Everyone darts back to the dugout for the bottom of the seventh. I know I am the third hitter, so I get my helmet and gloves out of the cubby hole on the left side of the dugout. I grab my favorite green and black Easton bat. The first batter hits a solid double to get on. The next batter walks up to the plate, and I am on deck. I walk out just outside the dugout on a dirt rectangle that goes the length of the dugout. From this place I can really take in the whole stadium. The crowd behind home plate is all on their feet. All the players in both dugouts are screaming. The players in the field are focused as a lion while hunting its prey. The batter watches two pitches, then makes solid contact. I can tell because it makes the beautiful, TING, noise when the ball hits the sweet spot of the bat. He also gets a double, and the runner on second scores. Tie game with a runner on second, and I am up to bat. I stroll up to the plate looking down at my feet, feeling the pressure. I set up in the batter’s box, and stare down the pitcher. He nods. I am expecting a fastball, as the pitcher gets set. I am a little nervous, so I watch the first pitch zip by. I look out in the outfield, and see the outfielders playing very far up, so they can throw out the runner at home. The pitcher gets set again, and comes with another fastball. I see it coming the whole way. I twist my hips and drive the ball hard. I watch it sail, and the outfielders