Personal Narrative Essay: Major League Baseball

I walked up to home plate nervous because my grandfather was in the stands watching for the first time, but I took a deep breath, tightened my grip on the bat, and stepped into the batter’s box. The pitcher looked at me and smiled he had to think I was going to be easy, but I wasn’t going to give in without fight. He took a quick glance at the runner on second, and boom the fast ball came in so fast I didn’t even know he threw it. Now I was shaking. The pitcher had the upper hand, but I looked at my dad who with his eyes said to me “you can do this” so once again I took a deep breath, tightened my grip, and stepped back into the batter’s box. The pitcher throws the ball hard as I load up and swing hard, but the ball curves

About three weeks ago, the Packer Varsity baseball team beat Berkeley Carroll school for the first time in twelve years and in glorious fashion. Tears streamed down my face as our winning run crossed the plate in extra innings, dust flying up as my teammates and I mobbed each other at the plate. Yet a few short days later, our team was blindsided by the news that St. Ann’s had pulled off back to back upsets to squeak their way into the playoffs ahead of us - just as our season seemed to be looking up, it was over.

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.

It was a hot summer day in Hammond, Louisiana and I was pouring down sweat like I had just jumped in a pool. The game was just about to begin, me and my team was eagle eyeing the bomb squad. It was so quiet that you could hear your own sweat hitting the bench. The umpire broke up everyone’s concentration by saying, “play ball”! The defense had ran out on the field and I started rolling ground balls from 2nd to short-stop to third base. They had all made good throws back to me and then I threw the ball into the dug-out because the game had begun.

Ever since I could remember, I have always had a great interest and love for the game of baseball. As a kid, I would spend countless hours in the backyard with my grandfather, or even by myself, tossing, hitting and fielding a baseball. When I wasn't in the yard pretending to be Nomar Garciaparra I would watch the Boston Red Sox games on TV with my Grandfather.  Even in my early adolescence, as impatient as most are, I had the patience to sit there and watch the Sox.With my eyes glued to the screen with a look of anticipation fixed on my face ready to mimic my grandfather with the excitement of a home run hit or the frustration of Mo-Vaughn striking out. Call me crazy, but I was addicted, even as a young boy, to Boston Red Sox baseball.

As soon as I made my very first varsity baseball appearance, I knew that I had to be the very best I could be or there was never going to be a chance of ever putting on that white and maroon crisp cleaned dri-fit Russel number 18 jersey. My heart was beating beyond faster than it should be at my first at bat because I had always heard “Just wait you haven't seen nothing yet, wait till you face them varsity pitchers.” Players older than me had constantly been saying that throughout my freshman season and it kept repeating over and over in my head like a broken record. Although I had studied the pitcher and had seen with my very own eyes, he wasn’t as good as everyone talked him up to be. I was still overawed and very nervous about messing up.

All game I was comfortable batting until that moment. Right foot in, left foot out, staring at the pitcher, my arms shaking, heart pumping I get ready to bat. First pitch comes, ball outside what a relief. Second pitch, fastball blown right by my waist, buffet strike; I just looked at it. Anxiously wanting to hit the ball, next pitch I swing it goes deep down the foul line. One and one is the count, next pitch I swing and miss, still anxious, and now upset at myself. The common two strike pitch is a curveball. With the knowledge of that, I swing at a curveball in the dirt: "striiiiike three!" the umpire sits me down. I was so upset at myself, but the following batter wins the game for us with a hit right up the right foul line to bring the runner from first to home.

Finally the time was here to play some Baseball. No one had seen how fast the pitcher pitched the ball because I was the only one at practice. Anyway I was the second one who was going up to bat but my team was in the field first so I kinda got some time to see how they play. But we had a really good pitcher so it was 1, 2, 3, strikes it was time for us to bat.

I click my cleats with my bat and dig a hole in the batter's box and stair at the pitcher. The pitch comes in slow almost in slow motion. I swing as hard as can. I hear the crack of the bat and I see the ball fly over the fence. I can't believe it. I never thought in a million years I would ever hit a homerun. I hear my teammates screaming. I round first, I'm almost at second when the shock wears off and I realize that I just won the game. A huge smile crosses my face as I round third and head for home. I get closer and closer to home. I stomp on home. Then before I know it the lights go out.

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.

The tigers have been playing a lot longer than we all have, we lined up, I was the first on to bat. He pitch STRIKE 1, he pitched again, I swung my hardest… and… SMACK the ball kept growing higher and longer HOMERUN!! The crowd went wild! We hit the first point of the game. Next it was Jimmy, Jimmy always hit higher and longer home runs than me. As Jimmy went up to bat, the pitcher pitch and.. SMACK! It went really high and came down right over the fence. The hooper redbirds were in the lead with two home runs and no outs. ¨man this going to be an easy game¨ I said while watching the game next up Johnpaul he was the bet batter and catcher on our team, every home run he gets he gets 5$ from his parents. As he walked up to bat I was thinking ¨we have to win this game so i can stay on the team¨ he pitch BAM! Flew into the outfield and out of the arena!

I threw the first pitch and 5 minutes later “Strike 3,” the ump said! I was 0-2 with an RBI and I pitched 4 inning shutout. The next day we played at 10:00 and 2:00. I woke up and got ready. We were late to leave.

I always consider myself to play Major League baseball; as I grew up; I realized that I would need a backup plan. By the seventh grade I noticed that I liked to do hands on activities and problem solve difficult tasks. I displayed all the interests of an electrical engineer. I believe that the interest really may have started at an even younger age. My father has been a maintenance technician for almost 25 years. In say that, I enjoyed watching my dad fix things which sparked my interest in fixing things, or at least look into the engineering field.

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.