“Mmmmmmm.” The smell of the hot dogs linger in the air as I stroll into the Riverside Baseball Park for my evening game. I was greeted by my teammates as I found myself dropping my things off inside the dugout. The bountiful bags of sunflower seeds filled the bench as sat down to get on my baseball cleats. I grabbed my cap and was ready to head on to the field. As we jogged onto the field with loads of salty sunflower seeds in our mouths, our coaches told us to grab the cage to wheel over to hit on the field. We all had a role in preparing the field for our pre-game batting practice. The sun was glaring with its beams down at us and we were soaked with sweat by the end of our pre-game. We all stood on the first baseline waiting for the national …show more content…
anthem to play. As it played, I heard some people in the crowd singing to it while I gazed at the red, the white, and the blue that stood atop centerfield fence. In due time, the umpire yelled “Play ball.” I took my position in centerfield on the freshly cut grass.
During the game playing outfield, I would hear the crack of the bat send a ball flying in the air and I would chase it down to earn ourselves an out for the inning. In the middle of the tough game, coach put me in to pitch. Walking up to the mound, I grabbed the baseball and felt the seams and smoothness of it, I knew I was ready to pitch. I pitched the game of my life striking out six out of the last three innings. As I came up to bat I spit out a handful of seeds and grabbed my bat. When I grabbed my bat I felt the grip stick in between my palms. Standing in the batter’s box I stared down the pitcher and he threw me a fastball first pitch. I took a hack at the ball squaring it up and nailed the ball left-center which made me feel great. Rounding first-base; taking off to second, I slid head first as I got multiple rubbery black pellets slide down my waist into my pants. I was safe. Lastly, Riverside Baseball Park is my favorite to go because I get to play baseball which is my passion. I like it because I get to spend time with my teammates who also like to play baseball and we compete with dedication. We build off of each other to become better players which is what I like most of all. Spending time on the baseball field makes me feel
whole.
The warm summer evening. The butterflies in the stomach. The determination and desire to win. This is a moment that many young men experience - Little League Baseball. But, unfortunately, schools lacking funding are looking to cut costs by getting rid of youth sports. That is when Dick’s Sporting Goods, a company with resources to bring attention to this problem, steps up to bat. Their message is effective through the emotional and ethical tie it creates in the audience through the story of a young man who overcomes tragedy through succeeding on the baseball diamond. Relying heavily on pathos and ethos, this message touches the hearts of the audience, calling them to step up as well.
America, and the world love sport; there are hundreds of types, but the one thing that links them all together is the emotion. For players and fans alike, the emotional involvement with the game is what draws them to it; and for Americans, there is one sport in particular that ignites their passion – baseball. Baseball has been called “America’s pastime” for a reason; the suspense, drama, and pride wrapped up in this game have captivated generations. The poem, “Casey at the Bat” effectively captures the emotion tied into the sport of baseball. “Casey at the Bat” is a poem about the last inning of a Mudville baseball game. The team is down two points, and the first two of their batters had already been sent back to the dugout. However, luck seemed to be on their side, the next two batters reached base, and the best hitter on the team was up to bat; Casey. The confident-cocky Casey let the first two balls go by; both were strikes. Then the last pitch came, the crowed held their breath as Casey took a swing; and to quote the poem, “but there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has struck out.” There are two distinct psychological personalities present in this poem; these emotional beings are the audience and Casey. The actions and words of both shed light on each others personality and mental state during that final, historical inning.
Some of the papers that I wrote throughout the course were mostly things that I felt very close to and loved. Whether it'd be sports, family, or friends, I always had something to write about. For how often I chose these topics, I always learned something from them too. Like with the Red Cross, over 95% of the workers there are volunteers that want to help out those in need after natural disasters.
Each time the ball ricocheted off the bat, I grew to understand more and more: my swing wasn’t the problem. I had gotten lost in the pressure, the expectations bearing down on me with the weight of the world that I had
During the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, Major League Baseball, much like the majority of other American institutions, was racially segregated. A color barrier was implemented during baseball’s infancy in order to separate people of different race to cater to the white American players. The color barrier was an unofficial “rule” that hindered those with dark skin from playing baseball for Major League teams. The color barrier was enforced by preventing any teams with a colored player from competing at the professional level. Many team owners, umpires, and players justified their opposition to allowing blacks to play by declaring that only whites could uphold the "gentlemanly character" of professional baseball. Others argued that excluding blacks would prevent future racial resentment between the ethnicities, as players of different races would be competing for the same job opportunities.
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.
I had played softball in P.E. enough to know the basics…or so I thought. I stood there leaning against my bat listening to Coach McGownd talk. As he talked I began absorbing everything he said. Gone were the days of simply stepping up to the plate to hit. Now, each at bat had a purpose and guidelines to follow in order to maximize the batters chance of successfully hitting the ball. There was so much information—proper stance, proper mechanics, how to set up in the batters box based on what you wanted to do (i.e. bunt, pull the ball, hit opposite, slap hit), and so much more. When Coach McGownd finished giving us our instructions, we shuffled off to our assigned station and began doing our assigned drills. I happily watched as the older, more experienced players took their swings. The sweet pinging of the metal bats against the balls and laughter blanketed the field. I patiently waited as the older players took their turns. When my turn came I picked up my bat, stepped up to the tee and followed along as my brain got its clipboard out and started checking off each step I had just learned. I took my swing and was awarded with a nice popping sound as I made contact with the ball. I knew then, that this sound of the bat making contact with a ball would become one of my favorite sounds. I continued to rotate through the drills enjoying the repetitiveness of the task. Time passed by quickly as I got lost in the
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
Therefore, the day of game on June 10, Phil and I woke up early and began our two and half hour journey up the Massachusetts Turnpike to Boston. As we are driving up the pike, you can see the clouds getting dark and cloudy as we get closer to Boston. When we get into Boston, we get lost tr...
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.
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.
It was the summer of 1983. Enthusiastic children from all walks of life gathered together at the baseball diamonds to be split up into different little league teams. "This was it", I thought as I patiently waited for my name to be called. I scanned the competition, keeping an eye out for anyone who shared the same love for the game as I did. Upon completing a thorough investigation, I determined that there were only a select few who would challenge my "self-imposed" all star credentials. The majority of the kids, it seemed, were only there because their parents couldn't afford summer camp.Then the moment arrived. "David Ramos, you'll be playing for Tobers this year", the lead organizer called out. I stuck my...
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.
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
The big yellow round sun blazed in the clear blue sky with not a cloud in sight. A steady constant stream of cars begins to enter through the small rusty gates, filling up the parking lot like a cup filling up with water along with the numerous big yellow school busses. Anxious, nervous, and excited runners were filing off the buses and wandering off to find their teammates and tents. The fans also come slowly trickling in like bees attracted to a honeycomb. A concession stand, smelling of buttery popcorn, stood off to the side bustling with life as a little green eyed, ginger colored hair girl in her mother’s arms could be seen begging pleadingly for a big bright red lollipop. The med tent mostly empty with the exception of a few runners who