Personal Narrative: My First Baseball Game

Softball isn’t all smiles and winning. Sometimes things could almost get sweet. For instance, we were the first team to ever beat Gladstone. I remember it was the second game of the season and we were playing at the dome. I remember Zeke punching the air, “Hell yeah! That’s what I want to see!” and telling us we didn’t have to clean up the equipment because we had won. We went home on a high, so incredibly proud to be on that team.

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 grew up in a family of baseball players. My grandpa was the first to really get into then it passed on from my dad to me. Growing up I was always practicing or playing baseball. My father and grandfather taught me the basics and it was almost a new way of socialization. Having to learn baseball was like learning a new language. Playing baseball when I was young started as just fun. Starting at the age of 5 I never did much playing. I more so stood in the field and kicked dirt around.

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.

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.

Blood, sweat and tears. All for one sport you love. Going to the fields, putting my cleats on and batting.(Cumulative) From the time I stepped on the diamond, I knew softball was going to be something I was good at. Usually most people start off playing t-ball and work their way up to the big leagues. Not me. I started my third grade year. Of course I was hesitant (nervous), but I got over that fast enough. I played every position possible. I was a strong hitter (usually making it on base every time). But that’s 10 u. Over the years, I became exceptionally good at softball. I had many compliments on how good I was. Parents were telling my parents how good I was. But that was only the beginning.

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.

That morning I woke up on the second week of summer, ready for my championship baseball game against Portsmouth. Our U11 all star team sat in second place in the tournament going into the championship against the number one seed Portsmouth Eagles. The whole day leading to the game, all I could think about was the game, not even the amazing apple pie my mom made because my sister begged for it.

The passion I have for baseball would not exist if I didn’t have Tom and Melissa as my little league coaches. They coached me for only one year of my life, and that one year changed everything about me. I wouldn’t be the same at baseball and I wouldn’t be the same kid if it wasn’t for Melissa and Tom. They had certainly changed my life forever.

I love the smell of fresh cut grass on a beautiful baseball field. The look of it is amazing, but the smell brings back so many past memories. All through my life I've played baseball for travel teams and such. Playing on the best fields in the nation, and the fields always getting looked after. So whenever I step on a Baseball field now, I'm taken back to my times as a kid playing baseball with my friends over the summer going to all types of places.

Ever high school baseball player has to remember there very first high school baseball game. I remember playing two inning in state playoffs for baseball. I only got to play those two inning because one of are teammates had to stop playing. It was the best two inning in my whole life it was so much fun but also so nerve wracking at the same time because I didn’t want to mess up anything or let my team down.

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.

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.

In the spring of seventh grade at Ridgefield Academy all the boys would go outside and play baseball at the end of school. Every day after playing outside we came inside to get changed to leave. There was always a bit of tension from the games and the chirps that were dealt out. On this particular day I walked into the locker room and grabbed Nick Lange’s wooden baseball and began messing around with it; banging it up against things and using it as a hockey stick. When he asked for the bat I must have said no and he lunged at me and went for the bat. He grabbed the bat and while we both had a grip on it, knocked me in the head a bit, not even hard enough to leave a mark. I stammered a bit and got very mad. I looked up at him and swung right