My heart is beating out of my chest while rushing to the hospital as my dad is shouting, “We play in the World Series next weekend!”. At ten years old at some old baseball fields in Spiro, I am looking up directly at the sun as the ball is closing in on me, I close my eyes and hope for the best. Even though the pain was tough, I kept my calm and composure through all of the shouting and looks I got. Seven years ago, I was at baseball practice at really old fields in Spiro Oklahoma. I was just having a normal practice like we always did on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We just got done running sprints when my coach turned to me and said, “ I bet you can not catch this ball”. I looked him dead in the eyes and said “Try me”. So my coach rears back, even giving a “grr”, and smashing the baseball as high …show more content…
I looked straight up and could not see the ball for a good two seconds. That was the longest two seconds of my life as the ball is falling straight towards my face. I put my glove and hand up, then I hear “crack”, as I feel a ton of pressure on my finger. I glanced down at my finger and say “OH MY GOD”, as if someone just shot my dog. My finger was completely sideways. The coach and my dad come running up to me screaming and shouting things that are not appropriate for school. While everyone else is flipping out, I slowly walk to the car and think to myself, “Oh no, we have World Series next weekend.” I was staying calm and collected. At that point I did not even feel the pain. I was just thinking about missing the most important tournament of the year. My dad rushed to the car when he finally saw I was waiting on him. My dad was still flipping out and screaming “holy crap Brock.” Finally I got tired of my dad freaking out so I said, “Dad calm down. I am fine, it does not even hurt.” After I said that, my dad took a deep breathe and
When the notion of baseball comes to mind, a feeling of nostalgia and tradition come to me. Many of my feelings and memories originate from my childhood. I remember a beautiful summer day. My dad and I arrived at the baseball stadium to watch the game. We walked up the concrete walkway inside the stadium. The concrete walls and floors made my surroundings drab and grey. Finally, we made it to entrance into the stadium. I came out of the dark tunnels into the bright sunlight. The first thing to catch my eye was the vivid rush of color. Underneath the fluffy white clouds and their deep blue canvas, I could look down and see players in vibrant red and blue uniforms warming up for the game. The well-watered grass on the field was a brighter green than any other grass I had seen. The outfield seemed to be so perfect. It appeared that each blade had been cut by hand. The edge of the infield, where the dark, watered-down dirt met the intensely green grass was a precise and well-defined contrast. We sat down and I took in my surroundings. There were men walking up and down the stairs selling various concessions. They had peanuts, beer, soda, ice cream, popcorn, and many other tempting treats. The players soon finished their warm-ups and the crowd became frenzied with excitement. The game was about to start.
The scariest thing that I have ever experienced was dislocating my knee during my high school basketball game. While attending Forestview High in 2013 the second game of the season, I acquired my knee injury against Highland Tech. I was very excited about the game because I worked very hard to take a senior spot and was finally getting the opportunity that I was waiting for. Everyday during practice, I gave my all, all the blood, sweat, and tears that I experienced I just knew it was my time. Tuesday, November 22 we get to Highland, warm up, and finally it's time for tip-off. The first quarter I get off to a rough start getting all the jitters out. Second quarter arrives, then I began to get the feel of the game. As I penetrated down the lane after hitting a mean crossover, I came to a jump stop
Fresno, California Easterby Elementary School , recess time, and the day of “The Kickball War”. The time was a quarter till noon, teacher still teaching, as every student begins to pace their feet up and down from sitting in their seats with such excitement. As I stared straight at the clock waiting too see the long hand line up within the short hand to strike 12:00pm, Tj tap my shoulder pointing out the window nodding his head while leaning toward the basket with all the sports and recess equipment. I knew for a fact what that meant, so I occasionally gave him a huge smile and nodded my head back at him, while slowly moving my lips to say the words “Kick ball”. Seeing how the time was near to head out, shortly, and without any hesitation Tj tied his shoes to prepare to dash right out the door! I felt my heart racing with such
Growing up, I have always had a passion for baseball. To me, it is much more than just a sport. There have been times when it has acted as an escape from many problems in my life, as I feel that when I am on the diamond, nothing can hurt me. I am aware that many people feel this way about the sport they love, but sadly their careers often come to an abrupt end due to injury. I have a personal connection to this experience. The summer before my fourth grade year I was attending a basketball camp at Davidson College, when in the final seconds of a scrimmage game, my ankle was kicked out from under me. I immediately fell to the ground in pain as my ankle rolled over on itself. Coaches aided me in limping off of the court and to the training room
Baseball was my life for fifteen years; learning values and tracing favorite memories back to my baseball journey make me grateful for these experiences. However, after a year of playing baseball in college while battling an injury, I decided to alter my goals; ultimately choosing to leave baseball behind. Finishing out the school year and anticipating what I might expect in the future left me feeling lighter; I believed I made the right choice. While on summer break, reflecting on my decision and thinking about my next journey, I became uncomfortable: I was no longer athletically active; I was no longer dedicated to a team, and I did not anticipate the search to find myself would leave me feeling uneasy. My fresh start began by transferring
When the World Series arrived we lost three games in a row. The Red Sox were almost guaranteed to win the championship and sweep us. But we came back, and our team was on fire. We won three games straight just like they did. It was game seven and it was our time to shine. The Headlines were all about us. The biggest headline of all was “ The Legend VS. The Rookie.” As i thought back I remembered Clayton Kershaw will pitch against us in game seven. The crowd roared as we run out onto the field. Suntrust park was jam packed for game seven. Since we were the home team the Red Sox hit first. We retired the side 3 up 3 down. Thanks to the tremendous pitching of Julio Teheran. As we went up to bat the stadium was trembling. I was batting third in the lineup,
Although baseball was something I adored, the pain it caused was not easy to ignore. Much like a middle school relationship, baseball was my “first love” and every few months we would break up and eventually get back together again; furthermore, much like growing up, I matured and my thought process was intricate and more complex. After my torn UCL, I knew I had to “break up” with baseball; especially if I ever wanted to be able to reach the Rice Krispies on the top shelf again. I needed to prevent myself from repeating my mistakes even though it was at the cost of my Favorite activity; however, once again there is always a silver lining.
A travel of over 3000 miles for some, a 210 mile drive for me, just to arrive at the biggest gathering of over 1,500 twelve year olds; all just to play baseball. The only place that would be suitable for such an event is Cooperstown Dream Parks, every baseball players heaven. Cars have come to Cooperstown from everywhere for this week long tournament. I met children my age from all over the United states. I became friends with kids from Ohio, Illinois, California, I even met a player from Puerto Rico who barely spoke any english. The windows of everyone 's car decorated with the names and numbers of teams and players. Excited baseball teams spill from their Barracks and hustle toward the already crowded seating area. Festive music played over
All we had to do was beat a team we had beat numerous times before and then we would be in the finals. Easy right? So we thought. Going into that game I did not expect to feel the heartbreak that I did when it ended. Finally, game day had arrived; in the first inning, things seemed to be going as planned, we were up five or six runs. By the fourth inning, we were down nine to five and it only went downhill from there. My heart started to ache and the feeling of frustration flew through my body. As the ninth inning rolled around we were still losing and we could not get it
Every little boy dreams of having the bases loaded, in the bottom of the ninth, with a 3-2 count, and in the World Series feeling. For me baseball is a lifestyle. I have had such a long history with baseball sometimes I call it my best friend. I started playing this beautiful game of baseball at a very young age, and at that age I gave baseball the respect it deserves, from that point forward I knew that this would be the thing that would impact me the most. I started playing baseball at three years old.
During my four years of high school I believe that my involvement in sports has helped me become a better person in life. I participated in varsity basketball and Track & Field all four years and my experience in both sports has taught me life lessons that I can carry with me for the rest of my life.
I was 6 years old, and it was my first baseball game. My parents were watching me play for the first time. The weather was sunny with a cool breeze. From practicing with my father all these months for my first game. It was finally show time for my baseball career to start.
As we step off the bus our noses are filled with the scent of the fresh food from the concession stand. My mind goes from the joking state that was present on the yellow bus to the killer mentality. As we make our way to the long dugout, the young fans from Fort Ann greet us with the usual high pitched cheers of how they believe the game will end. I make my way to the mound and feel the grainy dirt , as we have never been to Joe Bruno stadium before. Running this through my mind, I glance over to the section of students dressed in green and gold. They believe in me as I do myself. As the hard, but soft, ball runs through my hand, my pitching rival swings for the fences trying to end the game. The whiff of the bat is heard and we have recorded the final out. With two outs and the game tied, I feel my bat, as this could be the last time I ever use it. As the fast moving ball crosses in front of the pentagon shaped plate, I take a swing. My hips rotate, my hands back, the ball has carried over the gigantic wall. As the sweat runs over my lips, I make my way around the squishy bases, but it doesn’t feel like my career is over, rather it has just begun. I am met at home plate with ten loving teammates all dressed in the same cleats. We grab the wooden sectional title and kiss it over and over again as we climb into the screaming fans chanting with victory. As I am greeted with college coaches, I awaken from my slumber only to realize I must make my dreams my
The horn blew and the game started, Dedham won the face off and is running down the field at a faster pace than I was used to. They shot the ball! I couldn’t move my stick quick enough to save it, so I threw my body in front of it and got hit right in the shoulder. It hurt a lot, but what I hadn’t realized was that it hit my shoulder and reflected ten feet away from the net where my player caught it and ran down the field and scored. The other team didn’t know what hit them. It was the half now and the score was three to nothing in our favor. Our couch told us that we needed to keep up the good work.
“Baseball was a sport me and my mom played a lot together as I was growing up. She loved to go out to the front yard and throw the ball with me. Even on the brisk days of winter, she would ask me to go throw. My favorite memory that I have from throwing the ball with my mom in the yard is when I accidently hit her in the leg. I had just learned how to throw a curveball, a pitch she had no idea I was capable of throwing.