How To Write A Narrative Essay About My Final Game

The pitcher tries to put me out of his mind, but he can’t because I’m 60 feet away. He may have the mound to his advantage, but nothing will stop me from achieving this goal. I assess the field. There are runners on all the bases, the outfielders are playing back to prevent any extra base hits, and we’re down by 2 runs. I smooth out the dirt where my foot land, I make it smooth and the perfect landing spot for my foot, and step into the box. Everything must be perfect. I take a deep breath. I must stay calm. In...out. I sway my bat towards him and back into my pre-pitch position. My hands are relaxed but ready to unleash the violence of a baseball swing.

On a not so typical friday night, after a long day of school, my team and I knew that the day was not over. We had a fight in front of us and we knew what needed to be done. Coughlin high school was going into the ballgame as underdogs. Having everyone look at us as “the team that never wins playoffs” really makes you push harder for that title. It was very typical for my team to get the “short end of the stick” when it came to playoff rankings. The only thought that crossed my mind was to win so my team can move on to distracts. In the locker room before the game, everyone was getting ready and our coach told us something that i would never forget. He said “play this game for the next 48 minutes as if it was the last 48 minutes of your life.” After hearing this, we knew that we had work to do and that we had to accomplish the goals that we came in wanting so badly.

“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.

The following morning my nose still hurts but I have a game to play so there is no time to dwell over it. We show up and the kids we are playing are throwing seventy, which isn’t that fast for us. I was fairly confident that we are gonna win, all of my teammates were being cocky as usual. The game started and just like that, we are losing by 4-runs, none of it was my fault. We commited 6 errors in the 1st inning, I had never been more disappointed in any team i had played with, ever. We ended up losing but I didn’t worry about it because I was going out to dinner after.

"First off, I apologized to my coaches and teammates for that," he said. "I shouldn't do that, even if it was my fault or the other person's fault, I shouldn't do that. That just goes back to communication, that is why that happened."

The glare is no longer in my eyes and I can finally see and I look at the pitcher, I get in my stance, take a deep breath and then I don't hear anything. I hear no cheering, no chants, no yelling. All I can hear is the slap of the glove, all I can see is the dirty green softball coming fast down the line. My eyes narrow in, I shift my weight and swing. "CRACK!" was the noise from the ball making perfect contact with the ball I start running around the bases and so do my teammates. I don't even pay attention to where the ball is I just keep running. Rounding second base I look up at my coach and he is jumping up and down yelling for me to slide into home so down I go knocking the catcher down with me. I get up to my teammates running out and tackling me back down to the ground with

I am playing right field,and the ball gets hit to me. I try to catch it,but I did not. I grab the ball and throw it in. There are two outs,and we are losing sixteen to eight. We got the third out,and now we are its our turn to bat.

The next day rolled around. Game day. I was too excited to eat anything at all. I got to the bus, and I sat by my pitcher. It felt like the bus ride took years. Once we got there, I warmed up my pitcher, my nerves eating me alive. My coach tells us that it’s time to start the game. I was so nervous, I was having second thoughts about catching the game. But, I did it anyways. I put my gear on, and went out to the field, greeting the umpire on the way out. I get in my catcher’s position, ready for the pitches

“Batter up,” the umpire hollered. I took a deep breath and walked up to the batter’s box. I placed my hand in the air towards the umpire, indicating time, so that I could get myself into the correct position. I took one last look at home plate and took another deep breath. This was it; my time to shine.

I took a gigantic breath, then I was ready. The pitcher came set and fired in the first pitch for ball 1. My mentality at this point was determination to hit any ball over the strike zone. The next pitch is exactly what I wanted too. A meatball, right down the middle, and I took a cut at it. The ball connected perfectly with the sweet spot of the bat, and it went sailing into the outfield. The ball lands in the left-centerfield gap, and the winning run crosses the plate. Ball game.

To the average spectator, the time surrounding a single pitch consists of a steady emotion; however, I have experienced one of the wildest and most thrilling roller coaster rides of emotion while standing on the mound. I was completely aware of the situation. I was “in the zone”. Nothing could stop me. I had been perfect up till now; not a single batter got a hit. With sweat pouring down my face like a rapid waterfall, I took a deep breath. All eyes were fixated on me, but I didn’t feel that. My eyes took a quick glance at the massive crowd; some were cheering and others looked like they were about to give a speech in front of thousands. They collectively stared at the mound and anxiously awaited the next pitch. The ball fired out of my hand

I felt my cleats dig into the rough ground as I sprinted to first base. The ball landed between their left and center fielder. To an onlooker, you would miss the second of hesitation that laced their faces. Both unsure who was to go after it, before they both raced to the ball. By this time I had already made it to second base. Starting for third, their center fielder threw the ball towards second, coming a few feet short of the base. My foot smacked against third, unsure whether to go any further. The bright yellow ball flew through the air, heading for third as I took off towards home. Legs pumping, heart almost beating out of chest, sweat dripping down my face. I slid towards fourth, regretting my decision almost immediately. My foot hit

After the game, I could do nothing but sob for I knew I lost the team the game. I was ashamed of my effort and felt bad for the seniors who no longer would get to play the game they loved. The team went on to eat, but I did not eat because I was still sick to my stomach from the game. The bus ride was still silent and never a word

I had waited all these seasons to play with the boys. Finally, I’m here, my heart is racing. I’m up to bat, and swing, my bat is blasting forwards, and, “Strike one…” Timmy snickered. I’m utterly embarrassed, all the eyes on the field are faced towards me. My palms are sweating, I’m shaking in my boots, or should I say cleats. The second ball is hurtling towards my face and, “Strike two…” Timmy yelled. Now, I felt like my life was over. But, I hid my emotions, my face was as plain as the medicine aisle during flu season. The third ball, flying towards my bat…swing, but miss. I was ready to dig a hole, crawl in and never come out. But, then I started to hear a faint voice, “Honey, wake up.” Someone softly talking to me, was it…my

It was my turn. We were losing 10-7. The bases were loaded 2 outs it was up to me to bring in the winning runs. I was the third, one of the best hitters on the team.