Personal Narrative Essay On Baseball

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.

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.

I went home full of excitement and quickly recounted to my mom the success I had that day at baseball. I went to bed that night with more confidence than I thought possible and looking forward to another day of baseball. Made my way through school that day visualizing my performance that afternoon for tryouts. With more excitement than nerve I began the second day of tryouts. Thursday we worked on throwing and catching skills, friday was batting. An area in which I struggled a little more than others but with confidence pouring out of me I stepped into the box. Even with the confidence boost working on my skill I struggled heavily and was not happy with my performance. So trying to keep my confidence up I tried to finish that day of tryouts but I could tell that the coaches were less pleased with my performance that day. There’s not a much faster way to be served a large slice of humble pie than to realize you may not be all that you once thought you were. So keeping that in mind I finished the day doing my best. When we gathered together to make final cuts I could feel my heart beating in

I step up to the plate. The hot lights of the Mets stadium hit my face. Clayton Kershaw was pitching. He is the best pitcher in the MLB. The pitch comes. It was a slow hanging curveball right over the middle. I swing will all my might. I hear the crack of the bat and I see the ball fly over the fence. I trot around the bases and I am approaching home plate. I step on home then I wake up.

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.

And that ended in a strikeout. I banged the bat on the ground and then I walked into the dugout and soutdown. The our assistant coach talked to me and told me to relax see the ball and swing nicely. Then I got my glove and went to shortstop but that whole enning no balls came to me and the other team hit a homerun with a guy on second

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.

We were in the streets of the neighborhood, Ann Elizabeth to be exact. We had just began to play a game of baseball with my brothers new metal bat. Mom had already left for work and my dad was getting ready to leave as well. He was running sort of late. My brother and I were about to start the game, we check around us to make sure no one was near us to play a safe game. We saw our little sister and brother at the front doors neighbor's house playing with their daughter last time we checked. As my brother threw the baseball, I was getting ready to swing then bam! Before I knew it the bat had already crashed into my little brother's head. Let me remind you that this was a metal bat. A metal bat had ran cross my little brother's head. I was so terrified. My little brother was only 4 at that time. I did not know what to do. I held him in my arms. He was still conscious. I was holding my hand over his open wound. He bled a lot. My other brother had ran to let my dad know. My dad came rushing outside,

As my Varsity baseball team suits up for practice we whip out our “Easton Mako Bats” and our “Evo-Shield arm sleeves.” Everyone prepares for the season as we break in our new 200-dollar gloves. As I Un-zip my “Demarani Bat Bag” I search for the stick of eye black that seems to add spice to my game as I smother it under my eye, to “reflect the sun” of course. Our accessories become a part of our game, and we begin to value them more than the game itself.

Heading into my freshman year of high school, I was excited to play varsity baseball. While I felt honored to make the team in my first year, I also noticed some problems early on. The upperclassmen did not take the team seriously,

Not making the baseball team was easily the most humiliating thing I experienced. The whole week after I couldn’t even look at a baseball without thinking of how big of a failure I was.

I was good enough to make the team, but not good enough to start, and it was made sure that I knew this. At some practice early in the season, it was decided that I would be the scapegoat for the team’s insecurity. I was given the nickname ‘E6’ which means error on the shortstop. Every time I made a mistake, a chant of E6 rang out, eating at my confidence until all that was left was crumbs that could just be swept off the table. Even the coach joined in on the beratement. This caused me to enter into a season long slump, the worst of my life. It was this nightmare season that nearly caused me to give up the game I

my name is curelesscrab360, and what are you passionate about? I'm passionate for baseball and video game but mostly baseball. Also I wish to be a professional baseball player when I grow up and be third basemen or pitcher. Because it is a lot of fun but it is going to be a lot of work. I hope I hit homers and strike out batters or catch the baseball in my glove and throw the baseball to first. But I just want to play baseball. That is all for today and I will see you later good bye!

Last year I had a friend that loved baseball. I mean this kid just loved the sport. He liked to play it but there was one problem.. He wasn't a very good player. This kid was athletic and really wanted to know how to play. I helped him. I taught him to keep his glove on the ground when a ground ball was coming his way. I taught him how to properly catch a baseball. He wasn't the best player I have seen. Everyone would make fun of him because he wasn't very good. He worked hard all that year.