My Fastball Research Paper

Baseball, for many, resembles life. The judicial system in various states and countries implements a “three strike” rule; mistakes, or errors, both on the playing field and in life occur that are out of our control, and sometimes life throws you a curveball or two. For me, I experienced all three of

All game I was comfortable batting until that moment. Right foot in, left foot out, staring at the pitcher, my arms shaking, heart pumping I get ready to bat. First pitch comes, ball outside what a relief. Second pitch, fastball blown right by my waist, buffet strike; I just looked at it. Anxiously wanting to hit the ball, next pitch I swing it goes deep down the foul line. One and one is the count, next pitch I swing and miss, still anxious, and now upset at myself. The common two strike pitch is a curveball. With the knowledge of that, I swing at a curveball in the dirt: "striiiiike three!" the umpire sits me down. I was so upset at myself, but the following batter wins the game for us with a hit right up the right foul line to bring the runner from first to home.

This particular Sunday, we had already played four other games. We were nearing the end of our fifth, the championship game, and I was almost up to bat. I slipped my gloves on, black with white lightning stripes, giving me a sense of power. The player up to bat sadly strikes out, giving us our second out as the game is tied. The ump looks at me motions for me to approach the plate. I stepped out of the practice circle and took a few practice swings. Lift, step, plant, twist, bring the bat around, follow through, slap. Lift, step, plant, twist, bring the bat around, follow through, slap. Over and over, the same swing I’ve spent countless hours perfecting back at our practice academy in Olathe.

Brock hits a single right up the gut that gets our team on our feet instantly. Brett grounds out to the third basemen but advances Brock to second base. Now it's my turn as I await the sign from the third base coach who gives me a sign but has no meaning. Which means I get to do my thing and hopefully get on base or better yet hit Brock in to put up some runs before I go out and pitch. He throws the first two in the dirt not giving me a good look on either but puts me in a good position because he needs to throw a strike. Sure enough he wails another right in the inside corner where I drove it vigorously through the infield and skipped it to the centerfielder. Brock rounds third and heads for home and the relay the ball to the catcher not in time as Brock slides through the chalk foul line sending a cloud of dirt in the air. Even from first base I had to squint as the cloud shifted over but it didn't bother me one bit because the umpire hollered “Safe” which meant we were up

“Right guy, right time!” My dad blurts out, as I dig my left foot into the batter’s box. The count is now 2-2, a pitcher’s count, knowing that I need to be extremely cautious on the next pitch, because if I miss read the ball, I would let everyone down. By the time the pitcher starts his motion I couldn’t be more excited, but nervous at the same time. I’m able to quickly tell that the pitch was a fastball right down the pipe, I put everything I had into that swing, a rip the ball into deep right-center field. The ball takes one bounce and hits the fence. So I take off, like I was being chased by some lions in the African safari. I swing out wide, as my first base coach orders me to go two. As I approach second base I look to see where the ball

We were just in time to see the game, my jaw dropped when I saw the amount of people here. Most of the crowd were chanting “GIANTS,GIANTS!” and some of the other crowd were chanting “A’S, A’S!” After we sat down, all of the members came out of the dug-out and took their places in the field. The game now started. The game went on for hours, I was tired and hungry, I looked around and I spotted churros, I could smell It from where I was, I could nearly taste it. I quickly turned to my step dad Thomas and asked him, “Can I have a churro?” Thomas came back with three churros, one for Trinity, Cienna, and one for me. As I enjoyed my sugary churro I looked at the scoreboard, the Giants were winning! I quickly finished off my delicious churro, and stood up to see in front of the tall people. The Giants were up to bat, I was now chanting with the crowd, “GIANTS,GIANTS!” there were twenty minutes left of the game, then my mom and Thomas suggested we go home early, and we did, I wasn’t too upset I didn’t see the rest of the game because of how tired I was, although I was upset that I didn’t get a ball. As we walked towards the car there was an empty lot with a baseball in it I picked it up and looked at it, it was old and dirty, he

The glare is no longer in my eyes and I can finally see and I look at the pitcher, I get in my stance, take a deep breath and then I don't hear anything. I hear no cheering, no chants, no yelling. All I can hear is the slap of the glove, all I can see is the dirty green softball coming fast down the line. My eyes narrow in, I shift my weight and swing. "CRACK!" was the noise from the ball making perfect contact with the ball I start running around the bases and so do my teammates. I don't even pay attention to where the ball is I just keep running. Rounding second base I look up at my coach and he is jumping up and down yelling for me to slide into home so down I go knocking the catcher down with me. I get up to my teammates running out and tackling me back down to the ground with

Hitting a baseball is one of the hardest things about playing the sport. What makes hitting a baseball hard is that when hitting you never know what the pitcher is going to throw. Most of the time you can guess what a pitcher is going to throw. Usually if it’s a 0-0 count you’ll more than likely get a two or four-seam fast ball.

My most memorable baseball experience came not when I was eight, beating several of my friends on the opposing Little League team, not when I was 15, against our cross-town rivals pushing my school team into the JV playoffs, but just a couple weeks ago, marking the first win of the team that I helped to coach. It was just the second game of our season, and only an hour and a half long, but it was a representation of the backbreaking work applied by everyone involved. After my ninth grade year playing JV ball, I decided that I needed to focus on my school work, as it was tough to maintain my grades while juggling sports and other extracurricular activities. However, I continued to play club baseball, as my passion for the game never faltered. The trend continued in my junior year, as I needed to drop club baseball in order to keep up with the challenging courses I took. My coach, who I’ve been with since 6th grade, asked me to come back out whenever I was available so I could help prepare a team of the younger boys in the program for the upcoming season. One of my core beliefs is that it’s essential to give back to those who helped or supported you; the least I could do for all the years that my coach

It was the top of the seventh, and the Freeburg Rebels had a 1 run lead. After one of my teammates made the last out, I headed to the mound for the bottom of the last inning. While warming up, I could feel the scorching heat piercing my skin. As the first batter walked up to the plate, the umpire yelled out “Play Ball”! Despite this being one of the most important moments in my baseball career, I wasn’t nervous. I was locked in. On the first pitch, the catcher held up a 1, signaling for a fastball. I started my windup and continued to throw the pitch. The batter swung out of his shoes like he was trying to take one over the Green Monster at Fenway Park. Channeling my inner Bob Gibson, I threw the 2 filthiest breaking balls I’ve ever thrown

It was the bottom of the sixth inning of a USSA sponsored tournament and I was hitting fourth that inning, cleanup. Jake, our second baseman and the literalist on my team, was hitting first, Jake tries to bunt and misses. “C’mon Jake, get the barrel on the ball,” Said my first base coach Matt Fitzmorris, who played in the majors, “Let’s go!”

The team was small but strong. The whole game the crack of the bat hitting the ball was atrocious. The other team had been hitting dingers the whole game. Somehow we had managed to keep the score to only five to three. The game was coming to an end because of the time limit. I could sense the umpires wanted the game to be over so we had to pick it up quickly. The time was running out, “Five minutes left!” yelled the home plate ump.

A changeup is an offspeed pitch thrown just like a fastball except held with a different grip. There are many ways to hold a changeup. You can palm the ball to make it slow down, or you can use all five fingertips and hold the ball on the end of them. There is also the circle changeup grip. This pitch is best thrown when the batter is ahead of your fastball and with the same arm speed upon release as the fastball, so they won’t see it coming.

CRACK! I start sprinting back because I know it’s way over my head. It’s the bottom of the 7th were up by one. Took 10 hard steps with my head down so I could get there faster. I put my glove and WHACK run straight into the fence. I was pretty sure I just got a concussion so I just layed there looking up at the sky. Everybody was cheering on the other team because they thought they had just won the game. The umpire is running over to me to see if I had the ball in my glove also to see if I was okay. I thought that there was no way that I caught but I showed the ump my glove. When I showed him my glove felt a little heavier than a normal glove just like when you don’t think there is any candy in a box but when you pick it up you know that

I was getting very nervous, because all three of us were hitless today. Okay, we need base runners, and we need them now. Don’t try to do too much, just get a hit. I thought. The first pitch was a fastball right down the middle of the plate, a perfect pitch to hit. My eyes got big, and my mind said swing, but before I could react, the ball was past me.