Hit A Home Run-Personal Narrative

“At a boy Ty!” He just hit a home-run. Then I came up to the plate and hit a home-run right after Ty hit one. Ty and I were so excited. The day before that Jaxon hit one. We all called ourselves the home-run squad. It was awesome to hit two home runs back to back. The feeling is amazing when you are running around the bases.I almost sprinted all of the bases. I was so excited when I came up to bat the next time I thought I was going to hit another home run and I was very close. I hit it perfectly and it hit the wall.I was so happy after that game. After the game I did a back hand spring. We even had a party after the games. I got MVP for 4 of the 5 games. I am a pitcher a shortstop and a third-basemen. I am even a sub

“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 step out of the batters box to gather myself. I take a couple of check swings. I tell myself now you are ready. I Step back into the batter’s box and prepare myself for the next pitch. In my mind, I am thing if he pitches a fast ball I am going to swing for the heavens. The pitcher throws a fast ball. I can see the ball moving towards me as if it was moving in slow motion. My eyes zoom in on the ball like a pair of binoculars. I swing it is a hit into the outfield over the centerfielders head. I run with

I licked my lips, baked from the dry air, in an attempt to calm myself. After four long seconds, the umpire gave the signal and the ball set was in motion. As the baseball was released from the pitchers finger tips, I forced myself to get into ready position, lifting my leg up and extending my arms back for a big swing. I immediately recognized it was an inside curveball but hesitation took over me resulting in a late swing. My heart skipped a beat as I waited for the umpire to make the call.

I thought they thoroughly perceived me only in light of the fact that our bats were ablaze. We worked our way up to score three keeps running in that inning and we led the pack. Unfortunately, they got an opportunity to bat. I was still in the diversion and I had tossed around one hundred and thirty pitches which is a considerable measure for a pitcher. Traditionally mentors take out their pitchers when they hit the one hundred pitch stamp. I was now ready to ambulate out of the hole and onto the field when Coach halted me.

Ever since I was old enough to walk, I loved to play baseball. Baseball was the first true love of my life. I had always imagined myself playing in the big leagues along with Derek Jeter and all of the other big named players. I had the same fantasy along with every other ten year old boy that loved to play the sport of baseball. The only problem with my fantasy was a deal that I made to myself. I told myself," Dalton, if you don't hit an over-the-fence homerun, then you will not play in the big leagues."

it's a hot Texas Sun beat down upon my neck a fast ball whizzed past my bat and into the catcher's glove after you had another strikeout. I trudged back to the dugout thoughts of failure filled my mind of my confidence slowly vanishing. I wasn't accustomed to anything less than success before high school. I prospered in youth athletics while living in South Dakota. I had a phenomenal baseball coach to transform my robbed potential into success on the baseball diamond. Unfortunately, my father's Air Force career demanded that we move before my baseball season. Without me my team went on to win the city state championships advancing all the way to the Little League World. When I was younger my family moved to not affect my athletic performance the difficulties began I was torn from my tight-knit community in Northern Virginia and forced to adjust to life in West Texas prior to the start of my freshman year. I struggled to regain the close friends and relationships I left behind for the first time in my life.

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.

“Every strike brings me closer to the next home run”(Babe Ruth). I was wondering how much baseball really affected my life and the choices I make. The answer is a lot, and it still continues to leave a mark on this life I love. Over the many years of my involvement in the game I have learned that life is full of ups and downs. Baseball teaches people to bounce back from negatives, this I believe.

As the pitcher scrutinizes the catcher’s signals, the angst of the moment can only escalate; a one way road with no ceasing in sight. He starts his motion, with a fierce confidence, knowing the game is controlled by him. I begin to perceive seconds as hours, realizing the risks that every millisecond emits. The baseball bat prepared above my shoulders gains a million pounds as the ball leaves the hand of my adversary. Thoughts of confusion, possibilities, and worry are quickly overwhelmed by speculation. “Is this traveling fast? Will it be in the strike zone? What if I miss my swing? Is it changing direction? Will it hit me? Can I dodge it?”. THWACK!

I still remember the day it all happened. It was my freshman year of high school and baseball was right around the corner. Playing varsity baseball as a freshman was almost impossible to do. As coach called me into his office, the anxiety set in. I knew the varsity team lacked a starting pitcher but i never would have thought i would have the opportunity to get pulled up to play that year.

This particular Sunday, we had already played four other games. We were nearing the end of our fifth, the championship game, and I was almost up to bat. I slipped my gloves on, black with white lightning stripes, giving me a sense of power. The player up to bat sadly strikes out, giving us our second out as the game is tied. The ump looks at me motions for me to approach the plate. I stepped out of the practice circle and took a few practice swings. Lift, step, plant, twist, bring the bat around, follow through, slap. Lift, step, plant, twist, bring the bat around, follow through, slap. Over and over, the same swing I’ve spent countless hours perfecting back at our practice academy in Olathe.

Nothing beat the overwhelming emotion of stepping up on the pitcher’s mound and hearing the chant of my name, my heart clawing its way out of my chest. Before throwing the first warmup pitch, my mind raced through the entire season. How, as a team, we have made history winning all three major tournaments in the high school level. We had beaten many top competitors and lost plenty crushing defeats as well. My mind pondered, which situation will I be in today, glorious victory or destructive loss. This is the feeling I lived for during high school, it was my sole purpose. However, this was merely one minute of that fateful day in which I played prodigiously trying to win a baseball game.

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.

Baseball, for many, resembles life. The judicial system in various states and countries implements a “three strike” rule; mistakes, or errors, both on the playing field and in life occur that are out of our control, and sometimes life throws you a curveball or two. For me, I experienced all three of