Personal Narrative Essay: Death Of A Batch

When I got there know one was there so I had more time to practice. A little bit later there was a really good player on the other team practicing to but I think that he was the pitcher so I think he was seeing how fast I swung the bat. When I looked over to see how fast ball was going It was going as fast as a hummingbird flapping its wings.

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,

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.

I was playing center field waiting for those flying balls to come straight at me so I could catch them to get the players out. The girl that was batting hit the ball so hard that it sounded like she broke the bat. The ball was about thirty feet in the air and I shuffled backwards to see if it was going behind me sure enough it was. I sped up my speed to keep in sync with the ball, I put my glove out in front of my face and with a lot of force the ball landed right in the glove. The crowds started to cheer, and so did my team mates. I threw the ball to second base and got the runner out on a double play. The crowds cheered and roared with excitement. The game passed quickly, and we were in the last inning. Our team was the last to bat. The bases were fully loaded. The crowd cheered for a beautiful hit. It was now my turn to bat. My chance to show everyone that I improved. As I was walking my team mate shouted, “You got this, Andre!”. Then all of a sudden everyone started to chant and scream my nick name. This brought tears to my eyes because they all believed in

“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.

But that time was short because my team decided to go down one, two, three. So I took the mound and countered with my own one two three half inning. I began to methodically work my way through the opposing team’s lineup, until I hit a snag in the top of the fourth inning. Two walks and an error later and the bases were juiced up with no outs. I tried not to show panic, because if was rattled, my team would know it and become antsy too and I did not want that to happen. So just began to pitch again like nothing happened. The next pitch, a fast ball down the middle the fourth hitter smashes down the left field line. But out of nowhere, my third basemen snags it out of the air and touches third. Two outs just like that. With much excitement, I went on to strike out the last hitter and walk in the dugout

“Play Ball”, the ump said as I was on the mound. Sweat running across my face as I stepped back and threw the first pitch. I knew I had to start things right. 3 outs later it was time to hit. “Play Ball” the ump said to start the 4th inning. Our team was winning it was enough for a mercy rule.

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

I remember the time I arrived to the plate with a man on third base in the bottom of the 9th inning when my team was down 1 run. I stepped out of the box to take a look down the third base line for signs and what he told me to do was “Cody, do your job.” I gave my coach a nod and went back into the box. I stepped into the box and my mental thinking was, “leave nothing back and let’s win this game.” The pitcher started his windup and throws strike one to me and then strike two. I finally realized that this next pitch was going to be a strike; therefore, I was thinking, “I am swinging on this next pitch.” The pitcher did his windup again and the pitch was thrown low and outside, and I took the swing. The ball landed in the hands of the shortstop man. I hustled down the line as fast as I could and I stepped on the bag before the ball hit first winning the game for my team.

About mid-way through the season, we played the hardest team in the league. I just knew that this was the game for my very first over-the-fence homerun. During my first at-bat, I was so cocky that I ended up striking out on three straight pitches. I was so devastated because the feeling I previously had, just vanished. I was moping around all game until my next at-bat which was three innings later. I got up to bat, and I wasn't expecting much out of this at-bat. The count got down two and zero, and the pitcher threw a beautiful pitch so I swung. To my amazement, I actually connected the bat to the ball. I just knew that the ball was gone so I started jogging. I watched the ball all the way to the outfield. It was going, going, and not gone. It ended up actually hitting the top of the fence, and the center fielder actually catching the ball. That is when I knew that I wasn't going to hit an over-the-fence

To say the least, he crushed that ball, though not as high as he would have preferred. Billy practically screamed, “Home run!” but its trajectory kept getting lower and lower in the sky until he realized he needed to run a lot faster, or he had no chance at the big one. It would have been an easy double for a slow kid, and said no. At his speed, it would not have been a hard triple, but again, he would have refused to stop at anything short of a home run. As he rounded second and headed towards third, he saw the

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.

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.

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.

A batter walks up to the plate to hit for the first time this season. After a quick two strike called the count is against the hitter and in the favor of the pitcher. The pitcher is really aware of this 0-2 count and follows up with a fastball that is about chin high making the batter chase it and strike out. This is a great example of what youth baseball struggles with today in the sport. Technical offensive skills of baseball include, but are not limited to the strike zone and it has become the weakest part of today game. It’s very strange that the weakest aspect of the sport helps increase the defensive part because opposing pitcher rely on the over confident strike zone and accept the challenge making the hitter chase