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I have watched a lot of baseball matches in my life but the first time I went to see a baseball match will always be an important moment in my life. Since I was a kid I have been watching baseball matches on the TV but watching the game on TV it is nothing compared to witnessing an actual baseball game. It was on a cold night in the month of December; I was eight at that time and I had never been to an actual game so I was excited at that moment. As we approached the entrance of the stadium my excitement grew to the point that I could feel shivers running down my spine. At that moment, I was about to witness the event that was going to mark me for the rest of my life. Even today I can still remember the stadium, the atmosphere of the park,
I love baseball. I love to play baseball and read baseball comics. I have read a lot of Japanese baseball comics, and almost all Japanese baseball comics’ heroes were fastball pitchers. This comic’s hero was a typical typed pitcher in Japanese baseball comics. He could throw the fastest fastball in his team, and became the ace pitcher of his team when he was a freshman.
We went down by the players to try to get an autograph, and I was right next to Charles tillman! The person next to me got his autograph but I got a high five. When I sat back down I felt the cold plastic from the seat. The game started and the sun started to come out. The warm rays shined on my side of the stadium so it got a little warmer.
Several summers ago, I made my first All-Star baseball team for a local little league. When I heard that I was picked, I was overwhelmed with happiness. A lot of my friends and teammates in years past had made the team, but never me. I was finally selected by the head coach of the All-Star team, and considered it quite an honor.
As soon as I started high school, my goal was to play college baseball. I played baseball for a very competitive select club that traveled out of town every week from Thursday through Sun as well as practicing every Tuesday and Wednesday. All through high school, I sacrificed my free time in the summer to prepare myself for college baseball. After receiving offers from four year universities as well as junior colleges, I decided that a junior college would provide me the best opportunity to continue to develop as a player. Even though I decided I wanted to play at a junior college, I wanted the experience of going away to college and living in a dorm so I decided to attend a junior college in Iowa where they had dorms for student athletes. Being ecstatic to be able to go off to college and play baseball was short lived. During the first month of baseball practice, I injured my arm, spent two months in physical therapy with no improvement, and then finally receiving the bad news that I would need surgery to improve. Surgery was performed over Thanksgiving break, but I was now faced with months of physical therapy, which meant
As I lay on my bed, that night I could still hear the umpire calling “ballgame” and solidifying victory and our mark on Mountain Grove Softball history. The adrenaline and excitement of the moment were still running through my veins as my mind started to drift. I soon found myself thinking of
As a kid, I was born and raised to love the great game of baseball. Many young kids have had dreams to become professional athletes, and achieve prestigious awards/ titles. Like many kids I’ve always dreamed of becoming a professional baseball player. As a younger kid with my head in the clouds, I never really knew what it was like to put my actual blood, sweat, and tears into something I loved, until my worst season I had ever played. This whole story starts in the beginning of my ninth grade baseball season. It started out different from every other year because, of course I was a freshman. This was the first year I had ever practiced with the varsity squad, it was much more difficult, but I still figured I was going to do great. After weeks
My story and experience takes places long time ago, but to me it feels just like yesterday. I remember it so clearly, it was Saturday June 10, 2006. I got tickets for the game from my actual father, but he could not attend the game, thus giving me the tickets to my first Red Sox game at Fenway Park. The Red Sox that day were schedule to play the Texas Rangers in a day-night doubleheader. The minute I got tickets, I went and checked the weather for that day. Rain, yes it was schedule to rain on the day of my first Red Sox game, the game was already reschedule game from a rain-out from a month earlier.
It all began one day when I was six years old. My dad and I were playing catch at my grandparents house in the yard. I decided that I wanted to pitch so I told my dad to crouch down like a catcher. As I began to pitch I would try to imitate my favorite pitcher at the time, Cardinal starter, Chris Carpenter. My grandpa would sit in a chair by the window and watch me throw. After throwing a few pitches my grandpa decided that he wanted to come outside. With his walker, he made his slow walk outside to get a closer look at me. “I think we’ve got something here” he said to my dad as I continued to pitch. From that moment on, I always wanted to pitch in front of him just to listen to what he would have to say about me.
All throughout high school I played on the softball team. Proceeding the season before where we went undefeated with a district championship, my senior year we were supposed to be unstoppable. We received a few new players to add on to our army and the entire school was counting on our run to state. I was so excited to have an amazing end to my high school softball career, but unfortunately my dream was cut short when we lost in the first round of districts. I did not know that loss would change me the way it did.
The announcer began announcing our team to start the introduction for the game. Since I was the lead-off batter, my name was echoed over the park first. It was at this time that the feeling elevated; the feeling that makes every baseball field so special. As my teammates yelled for me, while I ran to the nearest baseline and faced the crowd, the feeling gave me goose bumps and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. The feeling is so amazing that it will keep me playing baseball for as long as possible because it makes my love for the sport that much more. I can't even begin to explain the complex feeling I get when I walk on a baseball field, but that feeling will always be cherished and hopefully when I pass on my love of baseball to others, they will too understand what that special diamond makes me feel like.
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
With seconds to spare I arrived at batting practice and began to prepare for my game. I hear coach call out my name and as I he acknowledged that I was there he told me I was pitching. My brain shifted and went into a whole new mode, I was more focused and more determined than I have ever been. This was the biggest baseball game of my career and I 'm starting on the mound. Honestly it couldn 't have turned out any better, the fate of the pin and my team lied in my hands and I loved the pressure. The pressure made me thrive and before I knew it our team was marching onto the field for the national anthem. During the singing of the national anthem I peeked into the crowd and first row down the first base side was the little boy I met on the cart and his dad sitting right next to him. This game was for that little boy, I needed to impress him. I pitched six strong innings and my team ended up winning the game. It was the most exciting game of my career and the best part was being greeted with the best pin in the tournament after such a spectacular win. The little boy ran out into the middle of the field where we shook our opponents hands and in front of everyone in the stadium handed me the only thing I cared about besides winning. I was in the best mood for the rest of the day and I rewarded myself with a nice long sleep. I could only image what the next day had to
As my father’s car bustled down the freeway, I was conflicted with emotions of fear and excitement. No twelve year old I knew had undergone what I was about to experience. Before I knew it, we had arrived. The automatic doors expanded as I neared them; my eyes instantly widened the same way I did when I took my first glance of Wrigley Field a couple months earlier. We finally reached our destination in a building that seemed like a maze: a particular office. The door opened and revealed a man looking down and smiling at me; “Ready to go Ishaan?, we have a lot to do!” This man was my uncle, Dr. Ojash Bhagwakar M.D., who declared and completed a major in biochemistry as an Illini 23 years ago. He took me on a round to see a dozen patients. Looking
Go!Ball!Go! I don’t ever want to forget my first home run. Furthermore, at the start of the game my team was warming up. I didn’t expect to hit a home run. One of my coaches kept saying for a couple of games you are going to hit a home run! I really wasn’t doing so good at the start. Also, I was the number one hitter and the number one hitter usually isn’t a power hitter, they are usually a contact hitter. It was the last inning and we were down 8-5 with one out. Then I got up to bat. Strike one then strike two. Finally, I was really nervous and I also had butterflies in my stomach. My heart was pounding like someone punching the wall hard. Then I swung the bat. It was a high fly ball gone home run. That was my first ever home
The best time of the year for baseball players, the championship the only game that counts. The game started out strong, both teams fought with all their might making the game tied by the last quarter. When it was my turn to bat again I had to procure victory, because it was two outs bases loaded.The moment finally came, bases were loaded with two outs with failure voided from my mind and I knew the time was right, I scurried to the plate and the ball was thrown I swung and missed, strike one. Then a ball, then another. Finally it was a full count last pitch and the spirited crowd was on the edge of their seats because this could be the last pitch of the game.