Personal Narrative: Butler Tiger's

It was brutal work that required constant attention - the field was always a little too dry or a little too wet, a little too soft or a little too rough. Like an idol that demanded incessant sacrifice, I would wake up early to tend to the field, painstakingly hosing every inch, only too see my handiwork decimated by collegiate players hours later. Yet the work was never unpleasant - something about merely being in the presence of the field filled me in an ineffable pleasure, so much so that my fellow interns and I would fight over who got to rake the fields each day, lest we be stuck with the ostensibly more interesting task of throwing batting practice to the players. There was something magical about bringing the field back to life after a long day in the summer sun, and each day I did my absolute best to see that those fields received the care that they

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,

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

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,

It was a dark thursday night in April. The sky was clear enough to see the moon shining brightly along with many small circular diamonds. I’m in a dark blue Avalanche, being driven to a baseball diamond. I play for the MIlwaukee Brewers on a little league level. It’s my last game of the season, and I can’t wait for the umpire to say the words “Play Ball” (which states that the game has begun).

"We just got to know their is a to more football to be played," senior safety Jarrod Harper said. "One loss isn't going to dictate our season, what this season has in store for us. We just got to regroup and come back this week and have a strong performance this week. Just be focused and locked in all week. Just get even more familiar with our opponent this week and come ready to play Saturday."

It is the first game of the season and we are playing our cross town rivals the Hartsville Red Foxes. The Red Foxes has beaten us the last three years. This year we are ready to win. Like a kid waiting form Santa Clause we have been anticipating this game. The teams’ emotions are high, like a balloon filled with helium. We have a built-up energy like pressure contained in a steam generator piping. Our baseball team steps on the field with our game faces on. We are steering at the opposing team with the look of a tiger ready to pounce on its prey. The first inning goes by and neither team has scored. Then the second inning plays out the same as the first, three batters up and three batter down. Both team's pitchers are pitching like there is no tomorrow. The ball is coming through the strike zone like a ball of hell fire. The third inning, the fourth inning, the fifth inning, the six innings and still no score for either team. We play through the seventh and eighth inning and the most either team has done was get players to first and second base before the inning is completed. It is the bottom of the ninth inning and I am up to bat. My first few times at bat, I walked, got a single, and later a double. I am determined to get a hit that will put me somewhere on the base in scoring range. I feel if I can just get to third base, we have a chance. The pitcher wines up and it’s a fastball that zips

Through the first inning there was no scored and no hits. Second inning comes, a walk, the first baserunner, but we can’t make anything out of it, neither could they score next half inning after 3 ground balls. Sheldon’s in the 3rd inning with 1 out, and then 2 and 3 come, he has gone 3 innings without a hit. Amazing! Bam a base, hit we got one! Again it doesn’t make a difference, by this time we are frustrated with ourselves.

Did you know that 2 years ago I played in my school championship game ? We were at Chichester high school . We came out as nervous team shaking legs were non-stop on the bench the starters were even scared. We have not even started Kick return and the team was sweating I got to be honest my self I was scared myself ! I wasn't that scared though only thing i was worried about was Coach Ryan and his son Ishaad Maultsby. They came out all excited and they were coming out so flashy, Ishaad was treated like Cam Newton at the super bowl game !

The cheers of the crowd like thunder rolling in from a storm. A rush of happiness and adrenaline running over us as we sit. The proud feeling that falls over us as we run onto the field is like arriving on the bank of a river. We've finished our journey. Friends were made

We have our first game against one of our rivals. We all played a great game, linemen knocking the defense around, running backs running right through their defense, and our defense shutting them down and kept them to one score. All coaches and players were pumped up and excited after starting the year strong.

The start of the spring meant baseball season was right around the corner, and our team was hungrier than ever. Our team had high expectations for ourselves, coaches, and even parents. Every day the warm sun beaten down from our shaded faces to the hard dirt, this marked the perfect time to take sharply hit ground balls and pop flies in between the sacred bright white chalk lines. We took drills on the perfect cut green grass surrounded by the four bases shaped into the perfect diamond, evenly separated ninety feet apart. My team always moved with abrupt hustle feeding for every rep possible, while each metal spike from our cleats gripped tightly into the earth.

One out away from us receiving the banner that states District Champions. The player next up to bat gets a double down the first baseline. It should’ve been a single, but he speed made him stretch it into a double. Josh throws 4 straight balls to the next batter and causes my coach to give a mound visit. Coach Kelly jogs onto the field signaling to us to meet him and Josh at the mound. He tells us “We need to settle down, and play ball like we have been. Make sure to have fun while you beat these guys.” That was a stern pep talk and gave us the determination to end this game. Josh is now facing a new batter with runners on 1st and 2nd with 2 outs. Josh is in an all out war with this batter, throwing all of his junk balls and his fastball, but the batter would just foul them off saying he won’t go down without a fight. The count is now 3-2. Josh throws a fastball on the outside corner which the umpire calls it a ball and signals the batter to go to 1st base. The Verde Valley side was very upset with that call screaming right at the ump, “that was a strike, end the game.” The umpire throws out one of our parents because he was yelling at him obnoxiously. Coach Kelly had to walk out of the dugout to tell our parents to calm down and let us play ball. To remind you the bases are loaded in the top of the 7th with 2 outs. Walking from the on deck circle is the best hitter on their team, which is the cleanup hitter in the 4th spot in the lineup. I was staring at this kid

I walk to the base. Sand kicks up as I pound my feet in place. I stare at the pitcher, staring at me. Swing. I swing my bat hard. I miss it badly. “Strike One!” I hear as i try to focus. Only hit it if it’s perfect. I think to myself, taking a couple of practice swings. I step back up to the base and ready my feet again. A pound of sand puffs up. I look behind me at the crowd, there eyes staring at me. I look to my team, their eyes looking at me saying, We’re counting on you! I look back to the pitcher. I nod, the pitcher gets in position. You got this… BANG! I hit the ball so hard it goes flying across the field. “Run! Run!” I hear everyone in the crowd, and in the dugout, yell. I run as fast as I can. Dirt kicks up underneath my feet. First

The pitcher let the first pitch fly, I let it pass me as it bounced on the plate. The catcher stopped the ball and tossed back like she had thousands of times. The next pitch flew in. It was half way to me when I swung, I knew it was the one. The bat connected with the ball in the lower right corner. I didn’t even look before I bolted towards the first. I turned my head and saw the ball was anywhere near second yet, so I turned and ran even faster towards second. Before I knew it the ball had gotten into third, stopping me at second, but getting all three of my teammates in. I looked over and saw my parents cheering, and a smile grew on my face. The next batter knocked me in easily and we were up fifteen to six. I knew we could keep