Narrative Essay About Baseball

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

Typically, people think of reading when they see a novel or a short story, but I think of reading when I’m out on the baseball field. When I hear the word “reading”, unlike most people, I think of a green grassy baseball diamond at night, with the lights lighting it up, filled with fans in the stands. Believe it or not, I read all the time on the field. I read the ball coming off the bat when I’m playing in the field. When I hear the “ding” of the metal bat and hard, rubber ball colliding, I know that there is a chance I could make a great play. I can see the ball getting bigger and bigger as in approaches me. I read the ball coming out of the pitcher’s hand,

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.

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,

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.

It was a very warm and tense place in the gymnasium of the Alpena High School. A group of freshman and sophomore baseball players were waiting for the words you wanted to hear which was “Congratulations” or the not so good news of “Sorry” from the coach deciding if you made the team. Personally, at the start of baseball tryouts I thought to myself it’s going to be a toss up to see if I would make the team having a 50/50 chance. I was nervous for the most part because there were an abundace of upperclassman also trying out for the team that were on it last year. There were twenty-seven people trying out for fifteen spots to play JV baseball.

Chris Givens was a middle school boy and he loved to play baseball. Chris lived and breathed baseball. He would watch every game he could. Also, the only sport he played was baseball so he was the best at it. However, there was one problem for Chris. He was not one the most popular kids. Only the most popular kids were picked onto the school's baseball team. Chris had tried to act cool and even hang out with cool kids, but it never worked out. Even though Chris was not like everyone on the baseball team he is determined to be the first kid to make the baseball who wasn’t popular.

The sun has risen and a young boy jumps out of bed with excitement, as he knows today he gets to go to his first professional baseball game. His father had bought him the tickets for his birthday months ago, and the boy had been counting down the days ever since. He put on his favorite ‘Cleveland Indians’ shirt, and ran downstairs to eat his yogurt and waffles for breakfast. As he ate, his mother saw him happily drawing Jacob’s Field, using his brown crayon to put the finishing touches on the base paths. The boy had a penchant attitude for baseball, as it was the first game his father ever taught him to play, and because of that, he would play whenever he could; with rocks and a stick, with his friends in the yard, and in his head when he

Each and every week I would head out to the baseball park, not because the experience would always leave me with joy, but because of the joy and satisfaction that the players had when they came and left the field. Many of the player’s parents told my fellow buddies and I, that the players would start counting down the days until the next Sunday, as soon as they’d get into the car! Throughout the entire Challenger season, I was reminded of how easy my life actually is, and how a how much I take for granted daily. With this program having such a great impact, I was dedicated to making sure that the player’s experience was the best possible. Which meant that I would often get there early, and help our Challenger division coordinator, to set up and makes sure that everything was ready for when the players came. My hard-work, and readiness to help out obviously were apparent to the coordinator, Jeff Sandes, as he came to me at the end of last year’s season to thank me for all the hard work, time and effort, I had put in to make sure that the players' experiences were the best

“There’s no crying in baseball.” That is something my dad always says to me. What made me think of that? Oh yeah, I have a baseball tournament this weekend! I couldn’t wait to smell the rubber glove, feel the speed of the pitcher, and feel the turf. I wanted to get back to see my teammates and my coaches. At 5:30 it was time to head to Lenz Field!

We were on our way to Indianapolis for Nationals. My friend Brett and I stayed up until three in the morning waiting for my father to come pick us up. My dad arrived around three-thirty in the morning. We arrived at Victory Field around eight-thirty that morning. Victory Field is where the Indianapolis Indians play. They’re the triple-a team for the Cleveland Indians. My dad had to go to a coaches meeting so Brett and I went and walked around the stadium. Eventually, when the meeting was over we headed to our hotel. Once we got to the hotel we checked in and went to our game. Our first game, we faced a team from Indiana. They couldn’t handle us and we won 27-4. Our second game we beat another Indiana team 8-2. It was now bracket time and we

It had been an unbelievable season so far, we were going into the championship game of junior league with only two losses. Of course, the only other team with a better record than us was the black team. We gave them their only loss on the second game of the regular season. Now, after defeating the better of the Mosinee teams in the semi finals, my dad, who was also the coach of our blue team, had stopped to watch the rest of the game between black and red.

Riding home in the back seat of that old ford after a big loss for my little league baseball team. The feeling of if it was all my fault that we lost. If I would’ve done one thing different would things be the same? A single tear rolls down my crisp face as we were in for the long ride home that felt like an eternity. My mom tells me that, “everything is okay that it was just a game.” Clearly, she doesn’t understand how the mind of a 10 year old works. My dad resorted to the best medicine he knows—laughter.

No one else was going to Disney, since my parents are divorced. My dad doesn’t like roller coasters either, so he asked one of his friends if he wanted to go to Disney with us for the entire weekend, I don’t remember his name, so let’s just call him “Luis”. Turns out he was already at Disney for one of his daughters’ birthdays, so it was perfect timing for me. We