Personal Narrative: Softball

In the spring of my seventh eighth grade year I decided to branch out and try a new sport. I signed up for our school’s softball team. A new coach was going to be taking on the difficult task of teaching the love of the game to a group of girls. The coach was going to be my English teacher. Mr. D taught the team to play softball well. He

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.

When I showed up to softball tryouts at the beginning of my senior year, I was convinced that I was going to be put on the junior varsity team for the fourth consecutive year. I was sure that I would never be moved up to varsity, regardless of how hard I played. My junior year I was embarrassed to be one of only two juniors on J.V. I was so self-conscious, that I had considered quitting so that I wouldn’t be the only senior not on varsity. However, I decided that quitting would be more humiliating than being on J.V. and forced myself to play my final season of softball. I showed up to tryouts the first week of school, and I played with every ounce of effort that I had. When teams were announced, I was legitimately shocked to find out that I

When I was playing travel softball for Angels Fastpitch in my second year of ten and under softball, this memoir began. My coach would not play me much because he said I was not good enough, he said I could not catch. He said many other things all were horrible. The emotions that came

Hard work never goes un-noticed, and although I did improve, I had acquired the label of ‘outfielder’. The position that wasn’t home to me, but I was forced to recognize as my spot on the field. My first year of Varsity softball arrived and I made it clear infield is where I wanted to be, but my coach’s confidence in me continued to lack to match the level of mine, along with the fact the returning third basemen was a veteran. And the outfield is where I was sent, yet again.

I stayed on the mound even when there were three outs. I belonged to both sides. At this point during practice, I could feel my muscles in my arm starting to ache from the strenuous exercise I was putting on my arm just through a practice. After every inning my coach would look up at me through his baseball cap squinting. He always said the same line, “ Janie, you want me to give this a go?”

Softball ruled over my life from the time I was five years of age until I was fourteen. According to the people who had watched one of my games, I played first base phenomenally and had some wonderful at bats when I focused on centering my power to hit the ball with all the force I could muster. Unfortunately and fortunately, my father coached every team I played on from T-ball to fast-pitch. At every game, he observed my mechanics and hand-eye coordination, and this pulled memories of watching my brother hit numerous home runs and make game-winning outs from his mind. On nearly all of the car rides home, he would tell me “You remind me so much of Dusty. I see him the way you throw, in the way you hit the ball, and the way you present

“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.

It was a warm summer evening and I was on the ride to my softball practice with my mom. She helps out the coach when she can so she went to the field with me to get ready for practice. My entire team was pretty much there so I got my cleats on and started to warm up right away.After I was done warming up, I played catch with one of my teammates to loosen my arm.

It was 9 a.m. and my mom barged into my room. She turned on my light and told me to get ready. The light hit my face forcing me to wake up. I could hear my mom and dad packing and loading our luggage into our truck. Today’s the day, I thought, Today was my last softball tournament for at least 4 months. I got that same feeling that I get when you go down the first arch on a roller coaster in my stomach. This happens every time I have a tournament or game. My stomach flips and I get butterflies in my stomach. I get nervous to make a mistake, make everyone mad, and frustrate everyone, especially my family. My anxiety consumes me and I get so nervous when the ball comes to me that my heart starts racing. I don’t want to be the one to let everyone down. But I’ve been getting better at not being scared. I’ve been trying to believe in myself more and have been overcoming my fear. I put my thoughts aside and got up, brushed my teeth, put my contacts on, washed my face, and got my uniform on. I brushed my my hair, put it in a ponytail and got some gel to slick back my hair. The gel felt like slime as I slicked it back on my hair, and I put my bow on. I went to my room to get my sweatband and was debating on what color I should wear to match my uniform. I decided to bring both of my headbands and decide which one I should wear today on the ride over to the ballpark. I got my bag that I had packed yesterday, double checked that I had everything I

“I’m sorry Larry, but she’s wasn’t good enough to make the team.” This is the phone call my dad received when I was a 7th grader. He comes in and tells me and he sees how I break when he tells me it. I am not playing junior varsity softball. This may seem insignificant, but to me this was huge. A sixth grader made it to junior varsity over me. I was told that I wasn’t good enough. I was told that I’d never be a championship pitcher. I remember when I was seven or so when we were losing a game on my first softball team. There was three of us pitchers. The first was hurt, and the second was too tired to keep pitching accurately. The coach looks around the dugout and asks, “She is getting tired. Who can we put in?” His eyes hover over me and anticipate that I might be going in the game. The coach looks over me and decides that the pitcher that is physically drained should stay in the game over me, who is still full of energy and ready to go in. I started thinking, was I not good enough for him? Was I a failure to the team? Was I even useful?

I was too afraid to throw my curveball and to execute my pickoff move to first. During a car ride to my final prep practice, my dad asks me why I wasn’t doing any pick off. I told him that I was afraid to do so. That's when he told me to not be afraid of making mistakes because making mistakes are the only way you can learn. I didn’t pitch that game

This was another example of me following a friend into a sports team I had no business being on. Thinking back on it, my softball career should have hinted that I would return to theatre, as I spent far more time leading cheers and singing in the dugout then I did succeeding on the field. I prided myself on not being the worst on the team.

When I was five I picked up my first softball glove. I didn't start playing on a team until I was seven. When I was five and six I played catch with my dad outside. When I started playing on a team I was better than most of the girls. I could catch the ball and throw it farther than the other players. The first two years I played I played all the positions because the coaches moved everyone around but I started to like catching. I started to play catcher every chance I got. During my third year playing I was able to start focussing on one position. I started focussing more on playing catcher and every year since I have played catcher. Through the years I have gotten pretty good at batting too. I don't hit home runs but I hit the ball and get runs batted in. My dad and I practice all the time. Last year I was playing and we were tied with the other team. We had to go into extra innings and we were the home team so we batted last. The other team scored a few runs. Now we had to score some runs or we would lose. There were two outs and bases were loaded I was going up to bat. I had two balls and two strikes on me and the next pitch I swung as hard as I could and I smacked the ball way out into left field. I hit a grand slam and my team won the game. That was my first home run.

How it all started, my brothers and sisters always practiced in my backyard. Looking at them okay made me want to play as well. So when sign ups came for them, I asked my mom if she can sign me up too. Days went by and it was time for my first practice. I remember feeling nervous because I never played before. There were about 12 other girls practicing and 2 coaches. Our team name were called the ''Baby Dolls". We wore a purple jersey, black pants, and purple socks. At practice the coach taught us to run the bases. After that he threw us big yellow softballs on the dirt and I had to field it with my glove. At first it was hard but I had got the hang of it. After practice was over the team all huddled up and yelled "Baby Dolls" on the count of 3. It was time to go home, and my parents asked me "how was practice". I looked at her and said " I loved it". After that I fell in love with the sport and never stopped playing.