Baseball Academy Narrative

About three weeks ago, the Packer Varsity baseball team beat Berkeley Carroll school for the first time in twelve years and in glorious fashion. Tears streamed down my face as our winning run crossed the plate in extra innings, dust flying up as my teammates and I mobbed each other at the plate. Yet a few short days later, our team was blindsided by the news that St. Ann’s had pulled off back to back upsets to squeak their way into the playoffs ahead of us - just as our season seemed to be looking up, it was over.

Ever since I could remember, I have always had a great interest and love for the game of baseball. As a kid, I would spend countless hours in the backyard with my grandfather, or even by myself, tossing, hitting and fielding a baseball. When I wasn't in the yard pretending to be Nomar Garciaparra I would watch the Boston Red Sox games on TV with my Grandfather.  Even in my early adolescence, as impatient as most are, I had the patience to sit there and watch the Sox.With my eyes glued to the screen with a look of anticipation fixed on my face ready to mimic my grandfather with the excitement of a home run hit or the frustration of Mo-Vaughn striking out. Call me crazy, but I was addicted, even as a young boy, to Boston Red Sox baseball.

As soon as I made my very first varsity baseball appearance, I knew that I had to be the very best I could be or there was never going to be a chance of ever putting on that white and maroon crisp cleaned dri-fit Russel number 18 jersey. My heart was beating beyond faster than it should be at my first at bat because I had always heard “Just wait you haven't seen nothing yet, wait till you face them varsity pitchers.” Players older than me had constantly been saying that throughout my freshman season and it kept repeating over and over in my head like a broken record. Although I had studied the pitcher and had seen with my very own eyes, he wasn’t as good as everyone talked him up to be. I was still overawed and very nervous about messing up.

I step up to the plate. The hot lights of the Mets stadium hit my face. Clayton Kershaw was pitching. He is the best pitcher in the MLB. The pitch comes. It was a slow hanging curveball right over the middle. I swing will all my might. I hear the crack of the bat and I see the ball fly over the fence. I trot around the bases and I am approaching home plate. I step on home then I wake up.

I am a baseball player who loves to play baseball and very good at it,

Competing for the spot. This kid named mike plays center field for the rangers, his high school baseball team. He is the captain of his team and his teammates and coach expect a lot from him. Their first day of training there was a foreign exchange student that plays the same position as mike and his name is Oscar Ramirez. When he first got their no one thought that he was good and no one knew who he was so they all looked down on him. Once he started batting and got out in center field then they all realized that he wasn't a joke. Everyone thought that if you played any sports than you are a jock and this kid named Zack always made Mike mad. Zack was walking down the hall way and stopped in front of Mike and was annoying him and called him

I remember the time I arrived to the plate with a man on third base in the bottom of the 9th inning when my team was down 1 run. I stepped out of the box to take a look down the third base line for signs and what he told me to do was “Cody, do your job.” I gave my coach a nod and went back into the box. I stepped into the box and my mental thinking was, “leave nothing back and let’s win this game.” The pitcher started his windup and throws strike one to me and then strike two. I finally realized that this next pitch was going to be a strike; therefore, I was thinking, “I am swinging on this next pitch.” The pitcher did his windup again and the pitch was thrown low and outside, and I took the swing. The ball landed in the hands of the shortstop man. I hustled down the line as fast as I could and I stepped on the bag before the ball hit first winning the game for my team.

High school is one of the biggest transitions in a person's early life. You go from being at the top in your school to the bottom. For me, it was very hard to adjust to this change. On my first day of high school, I walked into first period so nervous I thought I was going to get sick. Luckily, during the summer I had played baseball for Wahlert and had familiarized myself with the school. I was able to get a feel for the environment here before the school year started and meet many new friends. The hot summer days on the diamond taught me many lessons I could use the first day of school. Wahlert baseball gave me a feel for the amazing realm that high school is. It helped me overcome the hurdle of beginning high school.

As my Varsity baseball team suits up for practice we whip out our “Easton Mako Bats” and our “Evo-Shield arm sleeves.” Everyone prepares for the season as we break in our new 200-dollar gloves. As I Un-zip my “Demarani Bat Bag” I search for the stick of eye black that seems to add spice to my game as I smother it under my eye, to “reflect the sun” of course. Our accessories become a part of our game, and we begin to value them more than the game itself.

At the beginning of the Softball season, I had a horrible pitch, now after a ton of practice, I can finally get a perfect pitch. I always wanted to be a pitcher because there were only two pitchers on my team. But it was me against my coach and my team. Would the coach approve my pitch? Would the team accept me as a pitcher? Read my story to find out.

lukas k//After school I hung around with my friends until baseball practice at 4:30. until baseball practice. At baseball practice we practice and fielding and hitting.after baseball practice me and my friend Max walked back to his house, after baseball practice me and my friend Max Walked back to his house, because it's only five blocks away.we hung out and rode bike for a couple hours until my dad pick me up. When my dad picked me up, he informed me that I could babysit. my dad picked me up, he informed me that I could babysit. After thinking about it, I said “yes”. He brought me to McDonald's, then to Shanes. The person I babysit for. After babysitting until 330. I went home, took a shower and went to bed. The next morning I got up at

Baseball. America’s most patriotic sport and one of my personal favorites. I had the privilege of helping my middle school’s baseball team in my eighth grade year, aiding in setup and cleanup, and keeping those teenage boys in line. I loved every second of it, but my favorite part of that entire season was Bailey, our team manager, who happened to be on the more severe end of the autism spectrum. Bailey loved the game more than anyone on that team (more than anyone I’ve ever met), and he poured his heart into every practice and every game, but his autism prevented him from playing the game he loved so dearly. One of the pregame rituals that my team performed was cheering on Bailey as he hit off a tee and trotted around the bases with our coach by his side. It may not seem like much, but it meant the world to me, the coaches, the players, and especially Bailey. Every game, home or away, started this way, and it brought a smile to everyone’s face, including the members of the opposing team. This ritual seemingly worked magic on our team, who made it all the way to the conference championship game.

A place can be any position or point with space around. A corner, a site on the internet, McDonalds, or even if you’re lost in the woods you're still in a place because of the space that’s around. A place such as The Mexican Restaurant, where my parents go on special occasions or when I talked to a friend at The Baseball field about certain point of every aspect of the game we play, or even when My family was so traumatized when our dad went out onto the ocean when the waves we crashing in. He tells us he’ll be fine so he heads out on the sand and starts walking the opposite direction of us, the waves came in and crashed into the feet of the cliff. We thought he was gone but he came back and said the waves almost got him but he found a crack

I was in the field with Grampa collecting eggs to take over to Mr. Wilsons. All of a sudden we heard a gunshot. We weren’t surprised we knew it was Keet playing with his .22 rifle again. Then, we heard another shot. Grampa told me to take the eggs, me! I did not want to go over to Mr. Wilson’s at all. When I arrived at Mr. Wilson’s he was yelling at Keet and he took his rifle because his shots broke a window. Keet was crying like a baby. I left the eggs on the floor and ran, Lucky and Rufus the dogs chasing after me. Seconds later Keet burst out furious. I dove into the bushes to hide. Rufus sniffed out my hiding spot luckily Keet didn't see me. I went back home and found Kimi on the steps looking sad. To cheer her

Coach had put me in charge of helping Jeremy learn the basics of baseball. Having never played before, it was very strenuous trying to show what to do in certain situations. The first thing I asked him was if he was a lefty or a righty. Simple baseball terms for a left-handed batter or a right-handed batter. We figured out he was a lefty, I placed him on the right side of plate and I stood back as coach pitched him the first ball and he missed.