The Cleanup King

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.

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.

The pitcher tries to put me out of his mind, but he can’t because I’m 60 feet away. He may have the mound to his advantage, but nothing will stop me from achieving this goal. I assess the field. There are runners on all the bases, the outfielders are playing back to prevent any extra base hits, and we’re down by 2 runs. I smooth out the dirt where my foot land, I make it smooth and the perfect landing spot for my foot, and step into the box. Everything must be perfect. I take a deep breath. I must stay calm. In...out. I sway my bat towards him and back into my pre-pitch position. My hands are relaxed but ready to unleash the violence of a baseball swing.

He even sets the minor league record for career home runs. After all of this he still fights with all his energy to make the majors, he is one of the team’s leading hitters and mentors the team’s star pitcher, Nuke. Again, despite his efforts the team decides to send him down. At first, he is heartbroken, but then he bounces back on his feet and decides to become a manager. Even though he does not get to achieve his dream of being a major leaguer he adapts and makes the most of his situation. By all measures he fails in almost every aspect of becoming a major leaguer, but in the end he is happy and is doing what he loves. This is a key to the American lifestyle.

Billy Bean was a young athletic kid that came from a military family. He grew to be six foot four inches at the age of eighteen. Billy was tested for his arm strength, speed, hitting, and fielding in front of major league scouts. Billy was not the suitable runner to the major leagues scouts. They looked at him and thought he too tall and lengthy for an outfielder. “He’s probably real slow,” they would say. Billy did not listen to them, he did not have a care in the world besides performing perfectly in front of the scouts and fans. He was then set to run the 60 yard dash. “Gillick drops his hand. Five born athletes lift up and push off. They’re at full tilt after just a few steps. It’s all over inside of seven seconds. Billy Beane has made all the others look slow,” (Lewis 5). Things are not always what they seem to be. Billy was a tall white kid that is not suppose to beat a sprinter who was already signed to UCLA on a football scholarship as a wide receiver. Scouts ask for a re-run, and yet again Billy kills them. Billy was undervalued as a runner and he proved them wrong by killing everyone in the

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,

“I knew he had to throw me a good pitch with a 3-1 count.” Ashline said, “I got my pitch and wanted to put it in play, because I knew he could score if it reached the outfield.

As a four-year varsity-starting catcher for his high school, Steve was destined for greatness as soon as he stepped onto the field. His coach John Martin described the 6’2” 210 pound player as “the greatest athlete he’s ever had the pleasure to coach,” and that Steve was a “unique physical specimen.” Whenever he set foot on the diamond Steve was always at least two or three steps ahead of the competition. Whether it was always knowing where to make the play before it even came to him, or positioning his teammates in a way

Saturday was the day of the try outs and Chris was the only one who wasn't involved in a chat. First he tried out at the batting cages to hit. Every pitch the coach threw at Chris was hit right back at him. Chris knew his hitting was the second best of his skills, so he knew he could make the team if he was weak in the other skills. Then arrived to pitch, he struck out every guy that came up to bat for practice. Chris also felt he was the most accurate pitcher there so his hopes of making the team were still strong. However,his confidence broke down when he was fielding. Every bouncer that came at him just wired right past him. He felt so embarrassed, but when he arrived at pop flies he caught all of them he felt great. Chris was confident he would

At the end of the eighth inning we pick up the game with Kansas City leading the Minnesota Twins one to zero. Steve, sitting on the bench in the corner with a towel over his head in the Kansas City Royals dugout as his team is batting in the eighth inning, has thoughts that go back to his Little League days when his father Joe Ballard would say. “Don’t worry about the batter, play pitch and catch with the catcher. That’s how to win a game from the pitcher’s mound.”

George had pitched a no-hitter for a couple innings. He was getting very tired. The coach called out another pitcher who wasn’t as good as George, but was still super good. The first pitch, the other team got a hit. Luckily, they got the ball to first before they could get to first base. The Orioles won the game but not by much.

A professional baseball player walks up to home plate with a bat in tow. He raises the bat and his uniform grips his body leaving no slack. The pitcher readies himself and hurls the first pitch towards home plate. The batter starts his swing and as the bat prepares to make contact with the ball it drops, and forces the umpire to shout, “Strike!” The batter gives a glances towards the umpire then the pitcher. The pitcher decides to test his throwing speed. He releases the ball and it zips towards home plate. The batter winds up and smashes the ball towards the outfield as the bat releases a thunderous crack. The center fielder's legs turn as sprints full speed towards the wall wondering when the ball will fall towards the Earth. The fielder

Standing in place to hit, I placed my body in the batter’s box, and overlooked the bright green field. Hearing no sound but the dirt brushing against my metal spikes, and my gloves rubbing against my bat to rotate it in position, I took a deep breath, exhaling air like it was mist. Overviewing the opponents, nerves began to fill my body with a shiver that overcame my head, and my legs started to shake as the count went down 0-1. After, the pitcher threw a ball, and I seemed to recall his pattern, that being the same count as the hitter before me, and on this count 1-1 he threw a curveball so I told myself to expect the same pitch based off of his method. Reassuring my nerves, my legs began to stand still in the knowledge of his repetition.

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.

“Strike,” said the 10-year-old umpire. “Dang we lost again!” Whispered Virginia to herself on the other side of the road. John overhearing Virginia added “it's been forever since we won.” All the kids quickly grabbed their equipment. John grabbed his bats. Virginia picked up her softballs, and Mark grabbed his gloves and masks. All the kids ran home it was getting late.