Hit The Ball-Personal Narrative

It happened when I was a first-semester senior in high school. I do not remember the exact day, time, or what the weather was like, but I remember the moment.

I took a deep breath. It was the big championship game and we had 10 minutes left on the clock and the score was 10-7 we were down by 3. We had 3 runners on the base and 2 outs I was on deck and Brooke was up to bat. I pulled her over to the side and said “you got this were only down by three and I got your back. We have no outs so take your time and hit the ball.” Brooke said “ok thanks and we got this”. The pitcher threw the ball and Brooke hit the ball. It went straight down the 3rd base line. She got a single and now the score was 10-8, I was up. The pitcher through one right down the middle I hit a line drive right to center field and got a double, MG was running home as fast as lightning and slid into home barely making it. The game was

Could we get to the ball? If we don’t get the ball they well recover it. It was one of our first games in September. Our record was one, one and one. That means we won once, lost once, and tied once. It was at Unity Field (Home). We were started at 4:30.

It was less than a second maybe half a second but it changed everything. I heard the ball hit against my bad with tons of power. Suddenly all I heard was the crowd cheering behind me and my team running up to me. I was dumbfounded did I really just hit a grand slam to win the World Series in the fourteenth inning? Tears rolled down my face as we all knew we just won the World Series for our team that hadn't won since 1908.

It was a dark thursday night in April. The sky was clear enough to see the moon shining brightly along with many small circular diamonds. I’m in a dark blue Avalanche, being driven to a baseball diamond. I play for the MIlwaukee Brewers on a little league level. It’s my last game of the season, and I can’t wait for the umpire to say the words “Play Ball” (which states that the game has begun).

It was a saturday morning I had to get up and get ready for my baseball game. It was one of the most important games me and my team had ever played we were going up against a team called Storm Red, we started off the game not so good but we came back in the last couple of innings we stated a rally we were scoring and scoring over and over again. We ended up mercy ruling which means we scored to much for the other team to come back and win the game so we won 13-5.

Have you ever watched a game of T-ball? You’re watching kids with hats far too big for their heads, or bats too heavy for their arms to swing; it is adorable. I was one of those kids, and during a T-ball game the first signs of an issue that would haunt me for years to come appeared. In the dugout during a t-ball game, I was sitting on a bench waiting to go up to bat. A teammate asked me if the player currently up to bat was my brother. I turned to him and said, “That is my brodder.” He looked confused and responded with “He is your budder?” “No,” I countered, “He is my broffer.” With an even more confused look he asked me again, “He is your buffer?” Now I was annoyed. I thought I sounded normal, but he was looking at me like I had a third eye. “He. is. My. broffer!” I said, exaggerating the word slowly and condescendingly. That is where the memory cuts off. I don’t remember whether he finally understood what I was trying to say, or if I just gave up in frustration. Although this casual conversation may seem like a one time thing, it was not. My mispronunciation problem would follow me into fruition.

Once again the pitcher lifted legs and was in motion of releasing the baseball, I was determined to get a hit so I loaded up and swung at the ball. I will never forget the feeling when the baseball bounced off the bat like a trampling, there was a sudden happiness in me as I knew it was a good hit

It was the last games of the baseball season. We had are worse pitcher pitching for our team. And they had an ok pitcher pitching. We got to the semi finals and our coach was going nuts. I was in the locker room getting ready for the game and my teammates Austin and Tevan were right next to me also getting ready they were one of the best players on the team.

I threw the first pitch and 5 minutes later “Strike 3,” the ump said! I was 0-2 with an RBI and I pitched 4 inning shutout. The next day we played at 10:00 and 2:00. I woke up and got ready. We were late to leave.

The other team had just caught up with us at five points, and we worked so hard to get the five points that inside I just felt like I was going to cry. I was holding back my tears, I looked around the dugout and it looked like my whole entire team had the same feeling that I did. I suddenly jumped at my couch yelling "Time for the out field."

I click my cleats with my bat and dig a hole in the batter's box and stair at the pitcher. The pitch comes in slow almost in slow motion. I swing as hard as can. I hear the crack of the bat and I see the ball fly over the fence. I can't believe it. I never thought in a million years I would ever hit a homerun. I hear my teammates screaming. I round first, I'm almost at second when the shock wears off and I realize that I just won the game. A huge smile crosses my face as I round third and head for home. I get closer and closer to home. I stomp on home. Then before I know it the lights go out.

Each day we saw a different game. One night we saw the Los Angeles Angels vs. San Francisco Giants. During the game I was able to catch one home run ball and one foul ball. I couldn’t believe my luck.

I was on the varsity softball team for Oakridge High School. On the 6th of May our opponent was Montague. It was the bottom of the 7th inning, I was playing right field. I was running to my position, and all of a sudden had to sneeze, so I stopped behind first base. Let me just tell you, huge mistake. Next thing I knew I was on the ground. People start swarming me and asking me all these questions, and at the same time I was trying to process what

I took a sigh of relief and I backed out, looked at the signs and stepped back in. the pitch came in at my body, but it broke into the strike zone at the last second. The curveball froze me to move the count to one ball and two strikes.