Descriptive Essay: Butler Tiger's

Imagine standing on a softball field expected to perform at the age of 5. Even though the butterflies in my stomach were starting a war, nothing was going to stop me from stepping on that field to play my first tee ball game as a Little Tiger. Fans cheered, but what I noticed most was a little boy in the outfield picking his nose. Standing in the box, I was terrified; the field looked huge. I had never seen anything like this before, but I knew that the little boy was the person I needed to hit the ball to, so I hit the ball as hard as I could. The ball went soaring through the air like a bird on fire. Dropping from the air, it rolled to the fence. At that time, I knew I had fallen in love with the game of softball. I was smiling from ear to ear, I couldn’t believe I had hit the ball that far! Both sides screamed, yelled, and shouted with excitement. Was all this commotion for me? I rounded first, but I couldn’t go to second because my teammate, Kylie Leach, didn’t run. I didn’t know what she was doing. Sadly, the batter after me hit a ground ball to the pitcher, and the other team threw him out at first.

All game I was comfortable batting until that moment. Right foot in, left foot out, staring at the pitcher, my arms shaking, heart pumping I get ready to bat. First pitch comes, ball outside what a relief. Second pitch, fastball blown right by my waist, buffet strike; I just looked at it. Anxiously wanting to hit the ball, next pitch I swing it goes deep down the foul line. One and one is the count, next pitch I swing and miss, still anxious, and now upset at myself. The common two strike pitch is a curveball. With the knowledge of that, I swing at a curveball in the dirt: "striiiiike three!" the umpire sits me down. I was so upset at myself, but the following batter wins the game for us with a hit right up the right foul line to bring the runner from first to home.

My breakfast started to creep back up my throat as game time got closer and closer. I walked across the patch of grass behind home plate and was towered over by the 30 foot backstop with a huge net suspended from it. My bulging bag of equipment was beginning to make my shoulder hang. I walked down the steps into the cement dugout and placed my bag under the bench that spanned the entire length of the dugout. I sat down, laced up my cleats, and put my warm-up jacket on in preparation for batting practice. I stepped onto the grass surrounding the dugout to get the feeling of how wet the grass was. I dug my cleats into the grass and began my usual routine of taking certain practice swings as I gazed upon the press box in the wake of the backstop. Preceding the burn in my forearms, caused from the practice swings, I marched behind the dugout to the rows of batting cages to wait my turn in line. Pacing back and forth I knew I had to keep my nervousness to a minimum. I popped in a wad of Big League Chew and continued to

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

At the end of the eighth inning we pick up the game with Kansas City leading the Minnesota Twins one to zero. Steve, sitting on the bench in the corner with a towel over his head in the Kansas City Royals dugout as his team is batting in the eighth inning, has thoughts that go back to his Little League days when his father Joe Ballard would say. “Don’t worry about the batter, play pitch and catch with the catcher. That’s how to win a game from the pitcher’s mound.”

“Next up the right fielder Auuuuusstin Meeeehhhhrrrr” belows out of the speakers at full blast as I approach the plate. Feeling loose I ease into the batter's box sinking my cleats deep into the soft dirt where I can get a solid stance. Stretching my bat across the plate showing the pitcher how much reach I have tempting him to throw one in the zone. Weight is on my back leg as I slowly bounce the bat in my hands anticipating the first pitch. The pitcher begins his windup and I stop moving the bat and focus on the ball.

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

It is July 12th, in California the Sacramento Leopard High School baseball team is warming up for the big game against the Sacramento Gorillas. They are big hometown rivals. The first time they played, Billy won the game with a walk off 3 run homerun. Only this game is the State Championship and who ever wins this goes to Nationals. The only problem is the temperature is 112 degrees Fahrenheit, but the game must be played. Ricky the star player for the Gorillas is going to be on the mound today. He usually throws a 93 mile per hour fastball,lt is the best in the state of California. Billy will be on the mound for the Leopards he throws a 89 mile per hour fastball.

The first pitch came in. ¨Ball outside,’’ the umpire said as I stepped out of the box to take a breather. The second pitch came in as a Strike as I tried to get a hack at it but it broke across the plate. I stepped out of the box to regain my composure. Bases loaded 1 out. The third pitch came in and was a fastball that was traveling across the plate at 72 miles per hour, but I got my bat on it at the right time and the ball was in the outfield in a matter of seconds. The ball rolled passed the outfielder as I ran the bases as fast as I could. The outfielder struggled to get the ball in and threw to the cutoff man. By the time he got it in I was already at third for a straight up triple to score three runs to tie it up . “ Timeout,” I called as I took off my helmet and got ready to pitch.Jose took my place to pinch run for me as I needed to start warming up to pitch.

The first pitch that the coach threw to me seared the hair right off my head since it was going so fast. “Strike one!” called the ump. Alright, I needed to believe in my abilities. The next pitched was hurled right in line with my face! When I opened my eyes, I saw that the baseball was a perfect pitch and the catcher hadn’t moved his glove. The coach was making a fool out of me with his famous curve ball. “Strike two!” the umpire proclaimed. The next pitch was the one that I would make my mark on. The pitcher wound up and thrust the ball toward the catcher’s glove. I loaded and fiercely swung as hard as I could. After what seemed like forever, I looked into the catcher’s glove, and there was the ball. I felt dreadful. “Strike three!” I heard in the background. As I walked back to the dugout, I wondered what did I do wrong, what could I have changed, and what does the coach think of

We practiced everyday nonstop and won game after game. We became infamous to the other teams for our ability to decimate our competition. Everything was going well until the semifinals when I was called up to bat. I never had to bat in any of the previous games because there was a turnover before I even had a chance to bat. I was completely dumbfounded, I double checked with the coach to make sure I was truly next, I then asked the batting coach and he said the same. I nervously put on my gloves and helmet as I watched the previous player who had stuck out come back to the dugout with his head down. It was the last inning and there were players on first, second, and third. A tied game between us and the White Sox. I slowly dragged myself to home plate and stood there. I raised the bat behind my head and held it firmly just as my batting coach said. I concentraded my breathing as sweat began to collect on my fore head. We had two outs and all I had to do was tap the ball and we would go on to the finals and then glory. The pitcher gazed took a deep breath and paused. Then in a blink of an eye he

The pitcher threw the first pitch, strike 1. I swung at a ball out of the strike zone. The second pitch the pitcher threw caused me to get my second strike. I didn’t swing at the ball. I gripped on my bat tightly, ready to hit the ball. When the pitcher pitched the third pitch, “ting”, the sound of the ball being hit was heard throughout the field. I watched it go higher and higher till it finally started to drop. “Run!” the crowd kept shouting at me. I ran as fast as I could, racing base to base trying to make it home. I turned my head to see I hit the ball to the back of the fence. I reached third base and the ball was thrown to second. I didn’t care, I wanted to try to make it home. My foot let go of the bag and I ran as fast as I could, dirt flying behind me. I was a lion going after its prey. Like the last game I played, I felt unstoppable.The guy on second base got the baseball and threw it to the catcher on home base as I slid, the catcher had dropped the ball. The crowd screamed and cheered going crazy. I brushed off my pants and received many high fives from my team mates. After saying good game to the other team, I ran up to coach to talk to

I was getting very nervous, because all three of us were hitless today. Okay, we need base runners, and we need them now. Don’t try to do too much, just get a hit. I thought. The first pitch was a fastball right down the middle of the plate, a perfect pitch to hit. My eyes got big, and my mind said swing, but before I could react, the ball was past me.

As I come up to the dusty plate, I tap the beaten bat on the pentagon, I step out of the batter’s box and read my coaches signs, Stepping back in I load up my swing, waiting for the pitch. The pitcher started his motion, slowly coming towards me, I could see the ball rotating: a curve ball. I hold back my swing and crunch! I take off running down the base path, Only to notice that the ball went over the fence.

In The Jungle Book, the tiger named Shere Khan plays the villain. Although the movie makes the tiger look evil, it’s actually just a normal animal trying to survive in the wild like any other. Tigers are one of the biggest cats and they are carnivores. They have a territorial behavior and they are sadly endangered.