Narrative Essay On Timmy

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,

Clouds mugged the sun of light as the day progressed. Dusk filled the air on the baseball diamond where I would leave my legacy. Forth, was the championship game to be played, and the pressure of the starting pitcher, was not fazing me. In the zone, we said the Little League pledge. Jolts of excitement filled my muscles as I recited the piece that I know all too well. Warming up, I was controlled, and was ready to bring it. The game began with a bang. Strikeout after strikeout I fired, giving my all every single pitch. ‘BOOM’ went the glove after every pitch, whizzed right by the petrified batter. However, this was not much different for our team. Just two hits filled the board, I and my teammate Ian Keth. Scoring off of this was efficient,

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.

Chris Givens was a middle school boy and he loved to play baseball. Chris lived and breathed baseball. He would watch every game he could. Also, the only sport he played was baseball so he was the best at it. However, there was one problem for Chris. He was not one the most popular kids. Only the most popular kids were picked onto the school's baseball team. Chris had tried to act cool and even hang out with cool kids, but it never worked out. Even though Chris was not like everyone on the baseball team he is determined to be the first kid to make the baseball who wasn’t popular.

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.

His first game playing basketball he was nervous; his hands were sweating and his legs were shaking, almost as if he couldn't stand up at all. His teammates were trying to encourage him to not be so nervous and to just try to have fun.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum, shows a new generation that anyone can be a hero. Most heroic stories before this time showcased men as the hero but The Wonderful Wizard of Oz gives a new perspective of what a hero can be.

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.

The sun was shining and birds were singing as the 8th graders of Adair Middle School lined up getting ready for tryouts. Memphis Range was the new kid in town. He stood at about 5’10 with a muscular frame. He had black hair like the brand new easton mako beast Memphis had got. The new Easton Mako beast was the bat every kid dreamed of having. Memphis was kid who loved the game of baseball and never dreaded a moment playing it. Levi Garrett was the other kid in town who was good at baseball. Levi on the other had was a rich kid in town and was always bragging. He thought he was the best player in town. Levi knew that with Memphis coming in he would have to find a way to put Memphis off his game to be able to be the starting

The Vietnam War was the longest war in the United States history. Whether they volunteered or were drafted, one out of ten soldiers did not survive the war. With the average age of the men being just twenty-one, they were not grown up enough nor mature enough to deal with such tragedy, and grotesque, unspeakable encounters. During the span of the twenty-four years that the U.S. helped fight in the Vietnam War; 58,148 men and women died in action. Families, friends, and neighbors all fought for the same cause and each had their own story. Although some of the war stories sound similar, each holds a different meaning and the personal feelings of the individual.

ohn grew up in takistan. He had a good childhood but his parents were struggling financially. Takistan was calm and peaceful. He grew up in Rasmen the main city. John always wanted to study health and the human body. He was home schooled since takistans schools were bad. All throughout his childhood he worked for any one in the market. He did this so that one day he could afford to move to a town with a superior medical school, This island/ town was called Erie county. Timmy stayed on the island mastering his study's, until one day there was an explosion at the town garage killing 37 people and destroyed Johns car. This angered him, He decided to take action. He enlisted to fight with the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. The terroist group

and powers beyond the range of any human. The hero himself bring a mystical quality to the story

"We can make lots of money doing that and pay off the taxes that we owe!"

It was only a matter of time until my parents weren’t parents any more.As we were leaving the house all I could think about was where are we going and for what reason are we leaving the house for.Before all of this we(my brother named Kenny Curtis(KC) and myself named Kyle) were instructed to grab a bunch of clothes and get in the car.I never actually realized what was happening until we started living at my mother’s friend's house.I realized that my parents were in a divorce.It stunned me for a while, but eventually I figured out that it is ok and most people get into a divorce.

Storytelling is the oral tradition of sharing stories and recounting events of the past. It is an ancient art form and is a dear form of human expression (What is). Most historians and psychologists alike agree that storytelling is one of the many things binding and defining humanity as we know it because everything revolves around storytelling in one form or another. Humans are possibly the only animals capable of creating and telling stories.