My friend Kyle used to live on the Blane's culdesac back in middle school. Neighborhood lore is that it's called that because Nathaniel Blane used to meet one of his lovers there, Peabody or something like that. I bet you're not here for the history lessons though, so I'll just cut to the chase about what happened last August. Kyle and I met on the schoolbus, living so close to one another and all. We didn't have any classes together, but he would always sit in the back of the bus with his four siblings, chatting with one another. While we were in the culdesac they would always talk about this weird black striped squirrel that lived outside their house, but when the bus left that part of the neighborhood they would always talk about something I could actually join in on, like The Brady Bunch. …show more content…
When I was a kid, I knew I wasn't exactly well off, but it was easy to tell that Kyle lived in a dump. Kyle, along with his four siblings and mother, lived in a one-story red brick cube that looked like house sized swiss cheese. The house laid right in the middle of the culdesac and had this real tacky looking lemon yellow door, claw marks all over the front of it, but better there than on the cheap and flimsy looking screen door behind it I guess. Yeah you heard me right, this family in Boston installed a sliding screen door behind their front door, but people make the choices they make. Out in front of the house were these two stray dogs who had decided to live in their front yard, that would harass the kids unless one of them sacrificed their leftovers from lunch to distract them. Kyle and the others would always play Rock, Paper, Scissors, to decide who tossed their leftovers, but the results were always the same. Kyle, Ricky, Alexis, Susan, Tommy. Every week it would go in the same order and every week they would take a clump of the school lunch's helping of expired rock hard bread, and throw it at the mutts to fight over. I remember that bit real well because whenever I would walk with Kyle and his siblings back to his place, this red Ford Pinto would always drive by with two blonde studs blasting that one Beach Boys song about getting around when I was on the way to my house. Didn't matter what temperature or weather it was, those teenagers always had their car parked under their green tarped makeshift garage for the entire year, ready to blast their tunes with the windows rolled down at any moment, even during the snowstorms. They would always roll the windows up when they left the culdesac if the weather was bad enough though, maybe they just wanted to let their neighbors know "Hey, we're still here, and the Beach Boys are still the best band on earth with their one song that sounds like every song!" who knows? Once every couple of Saturdays during the Fall I would go over to Kyle's and we would play ball in his classroom-sized backyard.
We would always have to bunt the ball to try and keep it from flying over the rusted steel fence, but one day Tommy hit it full force and uh...I'm sorry it's just that this part, this part is the one that always gets me, ya know? You get a wife and a mortgage and you think you would stop waking up screaming, but it ain't ever that simple is it? So Tommy hits the ball full force right in the middle, sounds like lightning cracking, and it's a clear pop fly, looks like it's going to go clear out of the culdesac. The ball is about to go past the fence when out of nowhere it smashes into this crow. The crow and the ball both fell right next to each other and I know you have a lot of experience in this field, but you ever watch something die, and feel it in yourself too? The crow was sputtering on the ground but these hordes of ants were already on it. The poor bastard looked like it was trying to flap its wings to get away, but there were hundreds of ants on 'em, just plucking at its feathers and flesh with their pincers so fast that we could see
bone. All of us and had gone completely silent and poor Tommy's face was red as a tomato, tears streaming down his face as he tried to hold back his blubbering, his whole body shaking as he held the bat close to his chest. My hands were shaking and it felt like I couldn't hear anything, but I tried to grab the ball off of the ground. I thought that maybe if I could at least get the ball back, maybe we could just talk about how strange everything was becoming, but Kyle yanked me by the wrist as I was reaching down for it. His grip was real firm, actually left a bruise on me afterward, but was probably for the best considering what happened. The ants covered the ball too, and it was like the thing disintegrgted. Just wave after waves of ants kept piling onto it until I couldn't see any bit of the ball anymore and then, then there wasn't anything. Those ants ate the ball in what felt like less than ten seconds, and when I looked back the crow was gone too, fragments of it's bones being carried all around the backyard to separate anthills. Kyle kept holding me by the wrist and guided me through the house. Past their gas stove kitchen covered in grease, through the hallway with small holes covering the walls, and right out to the front door. We went so quick that his mom barely had the time to turn her head around. He nearly threw me out of the of the front door and shouted at me, "Don't Come back!" I didn't even have time to ask why before he slammed the lemon yellow door, and then the screen one behind it so hard that I heard that too. I didn't see Kyle or any of his siblings at school for months afterwards. It was about to be the end of the school year when I ran into Kyle in between classes, shuffling some books into his locker. I wanted to ask him about what the hell happened that last time we hung out, but also that my family was moving to New Jersey, and that I probably wouldn't ever see him again. Just as soon as I said hello, he looked at me like a deer in the headlights, and bolted away from his locker, weaving in between kids in the hallway so fast they looked like they were stationary. I started to chase after him, but Kyle had always been faster than me, and I knew there was no way I could catch up to him on even my best day. In Kyle's rush a paper had fallen loose in his locker, and was now trapped in the door. Figuring it wouldn't hurt to at least look at it and slide it back through the lockers slits, I saw it was the day's homework. From October. Mrs. Preston had written on his homework, "You did fantastically on this assignment, Kyle. However, I do look forward to you turning in more recent assignments! I've tried contacting your mother but she only tells me that you're 'just as good a son as you were yesterday'. I know I've been lecturing you on this for months, but there's still a chance to advance to the next grade if you take Summer classes. I would hate to see you fail out of the grade because of homework, so please talk to me after class." I had just finished reading the paper when I saw an ant crawl onto my index finger…...
What has 18 legs and catches flies? A baseball team! Baseball is a well-known sport throughout the world and is also known as the United States’ national pastime. In John Updike’s essay, “The First Kiss,” he illustrates the start of a new baseball season and the attitudes of the fans. Updike incorporates strategies such as metaphors, imagery, and irony to convey his attitude about the fans so that he is able to invoke an emotional response from his audience.
Strike Three 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 to the sport of baseball. “Casey at the Bat” is a poem about the last inning of a Mudville baseball game.
After that everything felt like it was in slow motion. The last thing I was was my first base coach as the ground reached out and pulled me down face first. For a second I contemplated not even getting up. I was utterly humiliated. But I did. And when I did, I absolutely died laughing. I stood up after the initial shock and was greeted with a chorus of ‘Are you okay?!’’s. After reassuring them all that I was fine I trotted back over to the batter’s box, still laughing, and got ready to hit again. I fouled off another pitch and finally regained a shred of composure. Thwack. The the ball sailed deep into center field and over the center fielder's head. I made it to second but was stranded by my teammates, and from there I headed back to the
I felt as though I was watching a train barrelling towards me, an inevitable bullet that had come tumbling out of the opposing pitcher’s arm. But instead I stood immobilized, watching my team's only chance of winning whiz by me. Strike three. I heard my team from behind me shouting “SWING!” with my mind screaming the same. But my bat remained unmoving, the pop of the catcher's glove like the nail into the coffin that was our defeat. All I had to do to keep our hopes of winning hope alive was swing, and yet I couldn't. I stayed on the field afterwards, tossing the ball up in the air and swinging away, landing it on the thick maple barrel of the bat.
on day in early june gablin was sitting in the dugout of the san jose sunbirds stadium remembering last season. It was the eighteenth inning of the second game of the Western Division play-offs against the Santa Ana Lionettes and Gamblins idol. Carol Spanks was at the plate Spanks lined the ball to the left of third base a shot lit so hard that it pulled the glove off Gamblins hand and rolled onto the artificial turf Gamblin scrambled for the ball spun around and threw her idol out at first base. It was she thought the best play she ever made.
Standing in the batter box, anxious. Looking forward I see the pitching machine signaling green. First ball comes almost nailing me in the thighs, but lucky enough I was able to get out quickly. I wasn’t ready for such a fastball. I just kept my cool and kept swinging. And that was when I heard “CLANG!”, my first ball hit went straight back at the pitching machine.
Upon further investigation, baseball is more than just “One, two, three strikes you’re out,”there is a whole world of physics interacting and exerting itself upon the game, unseen to the human eye. So next time one sees a batter hit a home run off a knuckle ball at Coors Field in Denver, one will have a great appreciation for the physics of the game that came into play within that play.
I first met Bob our freshman year at State College. We were studying an arts program there and became acquainted through a number of classes that we shared. By the second year, we had become friends and decided to live together in an off-campus apartment. We shared that living arrangement until we graduated last year.
We had many common things. We both were born and brought up in the same city in the big house with siblings. Both being youngest were very pampered. And we were the most liked person in our family too. We both are very close to our family and are still in touch with our immediate relatives. Although we grew up in different era, we both were brought up with similar set of traditional
Last night was my 1st cross country meet this year! It was VERY fun and enjoyable, except for ride there. It took more than an HOUR to arrive at the meet. My team was very thrilled and happy to participate in this 1 mile meet. The rest of my meets will be 2 miles, since I'm in Middle School. I did pretty well, just like the rest of my team. We will hopefully do just as well, if not better in one of our upcoming meets. We have 5 more we compete in, as well as a daily practice after every school day. I LOVE running cross country, it is really fun and YOU should consider trying it
I met Kimmy in the seventh grade when we had the same class. It was a normal student class but
He opened his heart to me and from that day on, I looked for friends willing to do the same. As I grew older, I met two of the most converse individuals in the world. When I was first introduced to Chris and Desmond, I did not know what to think. Everyone said that they were best friends, but for some strange reason, I just could not understand why. As time passed, we became closer and we grew fonder of each other.
Initial contact came the moment he caught my eye during cross-country. I perceived immediate attraction and my friends began referring to him as Paige’s crush. Similarity of interests connected us and provided opportunities for interactional contact through high school soccer. The relationship developed from afar as we watched and learned about each other through the proximity of our neighborhoods, living only a mile apart. Exhilarating, heart-pumping rushes of emotion overwhelmed me each time John called. Showing Interest, John pursued me and wanted to spend time together. Our personalities meshed. Uncontrollable Duchenne smiles took over when I saw or thought about him. Team dinners required no need to speak because our nonverbal communication and eye contact said it all, demonstrated by winks and silly faces. By the end of the summer we were bound and officially dating.
I, admittedly, do not pay nearly enough attention to my young cousins. This becomes deeply ironic if one were to tally up the amount of time I have spent acknowledging the “value of thought produced from society's younger members” or expressing a general awe of the human imagination, but when visiting family in small-town Georgia during the summer, the prodigious heat of the South leaves me generally unsociable and content to spend my days reading alone under the magnolias. Two of my cousins- who partly inhabit my grandfather's house due to a seemingly never-ending animus divorce- would always position themselves near me, drawing or tapping at something electronic. I had been four years old when the older of the two was born and, and in the brief window in which we were all at the same low ranking in the family, I remember constant comradery. As I finally grew into an age my sister deemed appropriate for friendship, though, the relationship I once held with my cousins seemed to simply slip away.
Mine and Caleb’s friendship did not end there. We both joined the basketball team at our high school. We both sat the bench, and even though we only ever played the last 30 seconds of the games, we had fun talking about what interested us. We mostly discussed video games, movies, and