Why Baseball Is Important To Me

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.

Baseball is a game of failure. Those in the MLB Hall of Fame got out almost seven times for every ten at bats they had. The point is baseball is one of the most difficult sports to master. One moment I'm batting six for my last ten, the next I'm zero for my last 15 at bats! In the past, when I was young to the game, I would shut myself in my

Every one was stretching and doing hitting practice. Unfortunantly I was not gonna pitch this game. The game finally started and in the first inning the pitcher was giving up so many runs. Eventually he got three outs and the score was 4-0. When we went up to bat we scored no runs unfourtanatly and the coach was kind of mad at us. When we went back on the field our pitcher gave up one more run and the coach decided to take the pitcher out and switch him out with the first base men. Also i was playing 3rd base throught the game. The new pitcher threw really hard and was striking everyone out, and because of that the inning went by really fast. When we went up to to hit this time we started scoring runs on the other team and when the pitcher finally got us out we had already done all the damage and the score was all tied up. The other team was scoring no more runs because of the dominate pitcher we had on the mound. However, for some reason we couldnt score no more runs against the other team, even when we had runners on base we couldnt do nothing, they

Through my entire life I had been playing baseball. Baseball was the one thing that consumed my life. It was a job to me, not a passion. That was the first problem that resulted in a complete 360 in my life. When I started to play baseball, it was in a way satisfying and fun. It was something every little kid did over the weekend, as the family watched them sit on the ground pick flowers and play with the dust. Something so simple that made me feel so, existential. It gave me so much, it was great. As I began to realise the potential life this game could give me at around age 9, I began to become serious about baseball. I quickly began to feel like a superstar at the local Little League. “This is great!” I thought. Running circles around everyone, people would come to the field to see MaHall’s team play. As the years grew on, leading my teams to championship games years in a row, it would come crashing down. When I was 11, I was on the Dodgers, we were the best team in the league, and we knew it. Let’s go back in time for a bit. It’s the last inning and we are down by just one. Here I go up to bat with a man on first base. As I walk up to the plate I could hear the catcher say, “oh no.” He knew who I was, as everyone did. “I’ve hit many walk offs and clutch hits before, how was this different?” I remember thinking. Well past Jonnie, here’s how it’s different, it’s the championship game,

This particular Sunday, we had already played four other games. We were nearing the end of our fifth, the championship game, and I was almost up to bat. I slipped my gloves on, black with white lightning stripes, giving me a sense of power. The player up to bat sadly strikes out, giving us our second out as the game is tied. The ump looks at me motions for me to approach the plate. I stepped out of the practice circle and took a few practice swings. Lift, step, plant, twist, bring the bat around, follow through, slap. Lift, step, plant, twist, bring the bat around, follow through, slap. Over and over, the same swing I’ve spent countless hours perfecting back at our practice academy in Olathe.

Ever since I was four, baseball constantly affected my life. When I was younger, I just played the sport because I always had energy and need to do something besides watch Spongebob. Before I knew it, I fell in love with the game. I nagged my dad to come to the park with me so we could practice. We would hit, run, play catch, and even watch baseball together. As I got older, my dad had become more serious when we practiced. He yelled nasty things if I didn’t perform at his expectations. I transferred to Mid Pacific as a new student, in the eighth grade, with no friends. The morning before the first day of school, I was excited. As I look at my sister drive off, I suddenly lost my confidence. The boy who was popular, likeable, funny, and even handsome had completely

I was playing center field waiting for those flying balls to come straight at me so I could catch them to get the players out. The girl that was batting hit the ball so hard that it sounded like she broke the bat. The ball was about thirty feet in the air and I shuffled backwards to see if it was going behind me sure enough it was. I sped up my speed to keep in sync with the ball, I put my glove out in front of my face and with a lot of force the ball landed right in the glove. The crowds started to cheer, and so did my team mates. I threw the ball to second base and got the runner out on a double play. The crowds cheered and roared with excitement. The game passed quickly, and we were in the last inning. Our team was the last to bat. The bases were fully loaded. The crowd cheered for a beautiful hit. It was now my turn to bat. My chance to show everyone that I improved. As I was walking my team mate shouted, “You got this, Andre!”. Then all of a sudden everyone started to chant and scream my nick name. This brought tears to my eyes because they all believed in

From early one, I was a standout in baseball. From ages 8-13, I made the league’s travel all-star team. Being the only black kid and the only one in public school, I often found myself sometimes out of my comfort zone when it came to hanging out with the team. Generally, the team consisted of the same players and coaches every year, so the faces rarely, if ever, changed. As we got older, things began to change. I eventually found myself on the pitching mound for my respective league teams starting at age 10. Now, not to toot my own horn, but I was hands down one of the better pitcher’s considering that I was younger than many of my fellow peers. By the time I was twelve, I could throw a ball almost 70 mph. At age 13, my team went a whopping 15-1 beating teams by an average margin of

In the bottom of the inning, with the chance to win, I would make the first plate appearance of the inning with hopes to start it off with a hit. Before our at-bats, Coach Sullivan talked to the team saying, “This is the moment you have all worked for. This is where all that extra work will finally pay off. This is a moment you will remember for the rest of your lives. Now GO GET ‘EM!” So I ran in the dugout, grabbed my helmet and bat, and began getting ready for my at-bat. As I was preparing Coach Sullivan came over and gathered up the next few batters, including myself, and said, “Right now! This is your time! Go do your best and good things will happen!” I was as prepared as ever when I finally stepped up to the plate to start the inning. As the pitch came towards me I swung the bat and felt a POP. I looked up to see the ball soar into the outfield and land as a base hit. The next batter was Ben Beis who, on the first pitch, watched a ball in the dirt which got past the catcher allowing me to advance to second base. Ben then did a sacrifice bunt moving me from second base to third

The first pitch came in. ¨Ball outside,’’ the umpire said as I stepped out of the box to take a breather. The second pitch came in as a Strike as I tried to get a hack at it but it broke across the plate. I stepped out of the box to regain my composure. Bases loaded 1 out. The third pitch came in and was a fastball that was traveling across the plate at 72 miles per hour, but I got my bat on it at the right time and the ball was in the outfield in a matter of seconds. The ball rolled passed the outfielder as I ran the bases as fast as I could. The outfielder struggled to get the ball in and threw to the cutoff man. By the time he got it in I was already at third for a straight up triple to score three runs to tie it up . “ Timeout,” I called as I took off my helmet and got ready to pitch.Jose took my place to pinch run for me as I needed to start warming up to pitch.

However, these evaluations given by the coaches told me that I had advanced hitting, but with my body type, speed, and fielding abilities I would never make it to the next level.  Their opinions devastated me at the age of fifteen.  I never realized such short statement would impact me this

The air was cold and eerie as my teammates and I got ready to take the field for baseball practice. Our coach called for a night practice in the middle of September following our devastating loss in the championship game a few weeks ago. “Let’s go! Start running laps around the field!” my coach shouted as players were still getting dressed and warming up. Most of my teammates still shattered by the championship loss weren’t feeling enthusiastic about practicing. We finished running our laps and moved on to the next portion of our practice which was long tossing. I wasn’t aware that such a routine practice would be the one to change my life.

Playing baseball is suppose to be fun, and I knew I couldn’t have fun until I rid myself of these unnecessary nerves. Well, in the summer of 2014, I finally was able to do that. I was playing for my travel team called “SWFL”, we were a pretty good team and had a few kids who were capable of playing beyond high school in college. So, occasionally there would be a few scouts here and there to watch us play, but nothing that anybody would really make a big deal about. One weekend we were playing in a really big and important tournament with a lot of good competition. We were warming up getting ready for the game and I wasn’t paying much attention to anybody standing outside the dugouts or behind the fences. Finally, it was time to go out on the field and start the game. Right before the first pitch was thrown I got a glimpse of everyone who was standing behind the fence behind home plate. There must have been about 50 scouts standing there ready to watch us play. Immediately my body tensed up and I got chills throughout my body. The very first pitch of the game was hit to me, and thanks to my little freak out I butchered the play. This made me even more nervous now that I had already messed up once. The very next pitch was a line drive hit to me and completely missed it and tripped over my own shoes in the process. I was so embarrassed and couldn’t wait to get out of this

When I think of my best memories in my life that I enjoyed, most of the times it comes from watching or playing baseball under the California sun. Playing on a field of diamond green and rooting for my favorite baseball team. I’ve come to recognize that baseball is not just a sport. Baseball has more meaning to it. Baseball is a stress reliever, therapist, and a pastime.

Bottom of the 9th. Two outs. Crack! A shallow fly ball in the air a few feet behind me, I quickly turned around to sprint and catch the ball. I’m looking up as I attempted to track the ball in the blinding Saturday morning sun and bang! As I became encompassed in darkness, my seemingly lifeless body hit the ground. I blacked out for fifteen seconds. I was then helped up by a fellow teammate. The first words to leave my lips were “Did he catch it?” I looked up, but rather than seeing cheerful teammates and fans, I saw faces of dismay. Rather than celebrating or saying “Good game” to the opposing team, I see my coaches sprinting out to check on me. I was stumbling off the field being held up by two teammates as if I were a drunk teenager on New Year’s Eve. They sat me down on the cold metal bench so I could regain my balance. As I began to leave, I was approached by the trainer.