Personal Narrative: Mocking A Ball

It was dead silent as the ball sat in the air and as if time had stopped. It was December of 2015, I was 13, my team and I was playing for 3rd place in the Colt Classic Tournament. It was a night game at Barrington Station High School. We were playing the Barrington Colts, which was weird considering they are playing for 3rd in their own tournament that they were hosting, before the game, I was talking to some of my teammates Aaron Pattis, Stephen Harris, Bradley Jenkins, Ayden Anderson and I were talking before the game, going into that game we speculated that we had this game in the bag easily as a result of how well our team was playing. Little did we know, we had another problem coming.

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 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).

So there I was minding my own business, casually rotating some kiwis, and that’s when THEY came in. They were a mildly intimidating group of rowdy basket ball types. By that I mean one of them was literally carrying a basket ball through the store. One of his goons pointed to something in the distance and nodded the other eloquently said, “Oh ho ho!” This was followed by a violent head nod from goon number one, and passionate laughter from holder of the b-ball.

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.

Since it was my very first varsity game I was extremely nervous and scared to let my team down. On the first drive I was called out to punt from the back of our end zone. I prepared myself for the worst because our starting long snapper was injured, so my long snapper was a tight end who had never snapped before in his life. The ball ended up being snapped 3 ft over my head and about 10 ft to my left, so I sprinted to get under the ball, jumped

I went to Riley’s house and John was there. John brought his tennis ball. Riley said, “Hey let play baseball with the tennis ball”.

It was just like a dream . It was the bottom of the 4th and I could not hit . Then Finally I got my hit , the perfect pitch finally came to me like it was the best pitch . So perfect straight over fence as i rounded 1st base .

The air was cold and eerie as my teammates and I got ready to take the field for baseball practice. Our coach called for a night practice in the middle of September following our devastating loss in the championship game a few weeks ago. “Let’s go! Start running laps around the field!” my coach shouted as players were still getting dressed and warming up. Most of my teammates still shattered by the championship loss weren’t feeling enthusiastic about practicing. We finished running our laps and moved on to the next portion of our practice which was long tossing. I wasn’t aware that such a routine practice would be the one to change my life.

It was a hot summer day in Hammond, Louisiana and I was pouring down sweat like I had just jumped in a pool. The game was just about to begin, me and my team was eagle eyeing the bomb squad. It was so quiet that you could hear your own sweat hitting the bench. The umpire broke up everyone’s concentration by saying, “play ball”! The defense had ran out on the field and I started rolling ground balls from 2nd to short-stop to third base. They had all made good throws back to me and then I threw the ball into the dug-out because the game had begun.

Lights blaring into my eyes, the crack of the bat, the shouting of the overly-devoted parents, the salty aroma arising off of the freshly roasted peanuts, all came together to create the overwhelming presence of a little league baseball game. This was a place where I spent most of my time on week day afternoons, in the spring, watching my brother succeed at America’s pastime. He was really quite good at this sport called baseball; he had just been granted the position of starting pitcher for the team. Sometimes things that have occurred in my life, and stuff I have received, that I may not have necessarily deserve, can be taken for granted. However, after what was about to take place my eyes are given a new perspective.

Final minutes of the first half winding down, my team was marching down the field with a purpose. Across the gridiron was our rival team, Mayfield, who we had beat the previous year in the state championship game. It was a cold November night and the stage was set, playing on their home field, “The Field of Dreams,” in Las Cruses, New Mexico in the semi-finals of the state tournament. Up 14-0, we had the ball and were trying to score before going into halftime. I was handed the ball for a running play and then it happened. Falling to the ground as if I had been shot, I had completely torn my hamstring. I was in complete shock as I lay on the ground. As the pain

As a result of this, it was suggested that there were three types of attachment:

In history it is repeatedly shown that a rebellion on society can change a country. At the beginning of the Roman Empire there were two political classes, the Plebeians and Patricians. The Patricians were the aristocracy in society and put all the hard labor on the Plebeians, who were servants to the Patricians. The balances of power in Roman society changed quickly when the plebeians chose to rise up and rebel against the Roman rule. The rebellion the Plebeians had against the Patricians caused a drastic change in the Roman Empire.

My personal accomplishments, strengths, and skills are particular. I am bilingual. Am certified in basic life support and CPR. I have run my own blood drive for the school. I’ve also helped my teacher with physicals. I’ve painted window in the community for the winter season. I’ve helped set up school events. I try to do my best at everything I do and accomplish every task. I make sure everything runs smoothly as they can to get the job done efficiently. I tend to have creative ideas which I carry out if it beneficial to the