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Physics of bowling summary
Physics of bowling summary
Physics of bowling summary
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Trinity's anchor bowler just finished his 10th frame, 156 is the score to beat. I do some quick math in my head, I can win the game by one pin if I throw all three strikes in the tenth frame. I take a deep breath as I step to the approach, and I start to really take it all in. This is the best part about bowling for a high school team and the worst part about bowling for a high school team. The moment that your team needs you. That make or break moment that one mistake can turn the match around. I snap out of my trance and I take another deep breathe. I grab my towel and grab my bowling ball, a 900 Global Network, and I begin rolling my ball end over end on the disgusting and almost destroyed Track brand bowling towel, which is so stained that the blue coloring and Track logo was barely noticeable anymore, and continue rolling the ball on the towel until my dominant hand was sticking to the ball (which usually takes three revolutions, just to ensure the most friction for …show more content…
I feel the ball come down from its maximum point at the same time I slide to the foul line, I stuck the shot at the line but I still managed to post the shot up, good enough for a poster and based on the clicking cameras I heard right after, it was going to be a poster soon, and I immediately shoot up out of my finishing position (as I usually do when I throw a really good/important shot) and take a step to the right and I drag my left foot along, similar to a limp but it looks more natural, and I watch the ball roll up the lane and I only remember the ball moving in slow
Many basketball games are decided on whether a team will win or lose by how well they perform at the free throw line. A free throw is the only time where the game is being play and the clock is stopped, players stop, and the ball is in an individual’s hand, with them and the basket. Since there are no defenders trying to block or alter their shot most coaches and spectators wonder what makes someone miss a free throw. Research literature shows that both psychological and physical factors play a role. Many athletes have a different way of approaching the line, but believe that accuracy can vary depending on the situation. A person may perform well on free throws during a game where their performance doesn’t determine the outcome of the game, but when the outcome is decided on their performance they tend to not perform well. There have been a lot of studies on what makes a person “choke” when shooting a free throw at the end of game situations, but there are not a lot of studies on whether the use of imagery can help a player feel less pressure at the line.
looking to destroy me and everything I care about. The weight I carry beside me is more than average. There is the darkness slowly coming to consume me into to a life of hell. I have found out that revenge is a satisfying feeling. People very often do things they are not happy with, but I have done something so dark and devious and I have gotten away with it without a trace. Every day I sit here it haunts me, the scarring screams of the man they once called Fortunato. Today of all days especially I have devoted so much thought to my past with the ghost of a man I vowed to avenge. All the events every single one leading up to me trapping Fortunato down in the cold disgusting cellar are on replay in my head, my father never in my life loving me his own son, the people at my school never wanting to except me but the day Fortunato came into my life stealing all the attention and popularity I never had doomed
As most children did, I had the choice to play whatever sport I wanted. Considering my height, 5’10, most would assume that I played either basketball or volleyball. No one expected me to play tennis, and was surprised when I said that I did. During my elementary years, I played softball for seven years, and when I hit eighth grade, I decided to play tennis. My decision came about because of my sister. I had always followed closely in her footsteps because I looked up to her a lot, so when I saw she was playing; I wanted to try it out too. I had never really thought about what it would be like to play tennis. I didn’t hate it, or really know what it would be like to play it. And little did I know that playing would demand so much time, energy, and effort.
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
I guess it started when I was about twelve years old. My father took me to this place called a golf course. I did not know why or what we were here for, but I was interested in finding out. We entered a building called a clubhouse; then, he paid for a bucket of practice balls. I followed him to the driving range. Once we got there, he got a metal stick from his golf bag and gave it to me. I grabbed the stick, and he showed me how to hold it. Then, he told me to swing it. I swung it back and forth as careless as I could. He then said, "Son, you have one of the nicest golf swings I have ever seen." I did not even know what I was doing with that stick, but I guess my dad saw something I didn't. My father then decided that he was ready to teach me how to use the three clubs of golf: a putter, iron, and wood. He handed me the putter, and we went to the green. He explained to me that a putter is used on a green to get the ball into the hole. I took a few smooth swings back and forth to get a feel for a putter. He said, "Hit this ball until it goes into the hole." I was impressed with myself because it only took me six hits to get it in the hole. He laid twenty balls on the green, and he told me to hit every ball in with one shot. It took me about three hours, but I accomplished what my dad told me. He thought I was ready to try the next club, so we headed to the next location. We went out onto the fairway, and he handed me an iron. He laid out some more balls on the ground and told me to hit them towards the flag on the green. The first ball I hit did not even get close to the green. The rest of the balls I hit went either over or on the front of the green, but I never let another one fall short. My dad said, "Keep practicing until you hit all of the balls on the green." I kept practicing until all of the balls were laid up around the flag.
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.
For the past eight years of my life I have been playing softball. It all started when I was eight years old and my dad took me to my first softball practice. I was thrilled to be playing a sport. My dad grew up playing baseball and his sisters played softball so he was ecstatic when I was finally old enough to play. I loved softball for the first 4 years of playing when it was all fun and games. In middle school softball became harder and more competitive and I slowly started to lose interest in it. I thought high school softball would be different; I would love my teammates, make varsity, and all along have a great first season of highschool softball… I was wrong.
I have been playing softball since the age of six. From the time I could walk, my dad had me out in our yard teaching me how to swing a bat and throw a ball. Growing up, softball is all I have known. Both of my parents played softball and baseball growing up and in college. They both have taught me everything they know about the sport. Softball has taught me more than the physical aspect of the game. In softball a player can strike out seven out of ten times and still be considered a good hitter. Everyone has rough days, but I have realized that I just need to come back the next day and work harder. My parents have showed me that working hard at it will help me succeed. Whenever I have a bad game, instead of getting down, I take it as motivation to try harder the next time.
Softball was my main sport, but I did everything else until it was time to play softball. I fell in love with softball at an early age. I would play every summer or I was asked to play which helped me travel all over the place and meet new friends. Each year I played my love for the sport grew more and more. I played on multiple teams throughout the summer. Playing with one of my teams I gained the advantage to visit Santé Fe, New Mexico two years in a row to play softball. When I reached 8th grade I was excited about playing for the high school softball team until I figured out how it really was. Although I was not happy about having to sit on the bench, but I understood that I had to earn the privilege to play, and that the upperclassman were more seasoned.
Shooting is the main part of basketball. If you don’t shoot, you don’t score and if you don’t score you lose, and nobody likes to lose. Shooting the ball is something that takes a extreme amount of time for it to become perfect. I’ve been playing basketball for over 10 years and I still don’t know how to shoot the perfect shot.
Probably one of the most important decisions I've made in my life happened this year. The decision was me , choosing whether i wanted to do drumline or play hockey. As a freshman going into the first year of highschool, it lead me to think of plenty of things. But one important fact that stuck out was me deciding if I wanted to pursue music or sports. As a freshman , I knew that I couldn't balance sports and marching band at the same time. Rehearsal for marching band happened everyday after school until 5 pm. I knew I couldn't do homework and study for tests with only 3 hours if hockey started at 9. So, I made the decision of choosing drumline over hockey. Not only would it help me balance my time doing homework, it would also help me on my
As I layed in my bed on a cold and windy Friday night, i could hear the roar from Fenway park across the street. The Red Sox had a game tonight against their long time rival the New York Yankees. Their games would always be so thrilling and so exciting to be at, i was a young 15 year old boy who like everyone else wanted to be a MLB baseball player. I had always dreamed about playing on that beautiful and playing against those Yankees. Living in Boston mostly everyone here absolutely hates the yankees. I was having a hard time going to bed so i looked outside and was looking at all the people outside walking outside the Ballpark.
“Hey Jess, have you seen my chalk bag?” Jess smiled and tossed the chalk to Amanda, “Yeah nerd, you left it in my bag yesterday.” “Of course I did, “ Amanda replied.
Highlighter yellow with firetruck red stitches looping diagonally on both sides. It measures to 12 inches in circumference and as opposed to its name, it’s not very soft at all. I’ve had many bruises that have proved so: many on my shin from where groundballs hit (sometimes I can still feel a slight indentation on my tibia), getting hit on my upper arms and sides when I got hit with a pitch, and I’ve even encountered a bloody nose or two when the ball came into contact with it. I only have one softball left from when I played. It’s dirty; the yellow has faded from the wear and tear over the years. There are smidges of brown from the field and one of the stitches has come loose. For thirteen years, softball was my life; when I was 18, I decided to stop playing. Most of my gear has been given away since I no longer have use for it. And yet somehow this softball has stood the test of time and sits in my closet, untouched. It was my favorite one; the one I used to practice with whenever I played catch with my mom in
isn't to write a paper that will get a good grade. Now, my goal is to