The Game Over-Personal Narrative

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).

On this Saturday’s evening game, the baseball game was 2 teams in the championship game. The 2 teams that were facing were Pipe Creek (which was my team) and Mcadams the team we had to beat. Mcadams was the #1 seed and Pipe Creek was #2 seed, we were throwing back and forth and getting some practice before the game. Later we finally start the game. Pipe Creek was the Visitors and Mcadams was the home team. Pipe Creek was up to bat first and we scored 6 runs in the 1st inning.

“Play ball.” Says the umpire as the Senior Rams take the field and the Hempstead Mustangs were getting ready to bat. This was it. This was our final chance to make all of our hard work pay off, and achieve the one main goal we all had in mind, state.

oals, I thought to myself as I sprinted down the field, ball in my net. The scorching sun beat down on my back, as if trying to slow me down as I passed defender after defender, trying to score that next goal.

The game felt like a million hours left in the last quarter of the game for b-team. We waited on the sidelines for b-team’s game to explode as, we watched. The a-team started to drink water and stretch a little for the game.

It was an ordinary sunday afternoon in late May, smoldering hot and filled with travel baseball. In a small town outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma, my 14 year old traveling team was playing in the tournament semifinals. Myself, in particular, had been struggling throughout the tournament, but I wouldn't let it affect my attitude going into this game. Due to my determination to win, I was able to lead my team to victory.

Rae and Junkrat sat down across from one another at an empty table with their food. Junkrat had piled his plate high with nearly everything that had been along the buffet, whereas Rae had simply picked out a hamburger and fries.

I had been playing baseball for five seasons but still couldn’t get the hang of it. Since I was seven years old I could never hit a baseball, and now I was 9 and wasn’t any better. I could never take a roaring swing at the ball and let it shoot across the field. You’d think experience would make me wiser but nothing could. My father being the baseball expert he is would always drive me home after every game trying to teach me the basics. He’d say lock eyes on the ball and bring your hands toward it. He said it like it was a simple technique but it sure wasn’t for me. Baseball never was a second language for me like it was for my father and uncle. They had always played together growing up. My father would always have a fun stories about each game he played, and how

I could feel the pitcher’s stress from 200 feet away in the dugout. We were up five at the top of the eighth, but the win was not secure. I could tell the pitcher was struggling to keep his composure. Suddenly, the coach calls me to warm up in the bullpen. I was excited and nervous to enter the game; I knew my warming up would add pressure to the pitcher and this was the Legion Sub-State Semifinal game, which determined our chance to advance to state. By the time I got to the mound, the bases were loaded with two outs. I noticed the packed stadium, felt the sweltering 90 degrees, and sensed the crowd’s tension. I had never pitched against this team, so I relied on communicating with the catcher. I threw a knee high fastball--STRIKE ONE. Next, I threw low and away curveball--STRIKE TWO. The catcher signaled a high fastball, knowing the batter was expecting another curveball. The batter chased the ball--STRIKE THREE. We won the game and moved on to finals. Two hours in the dug out, five minutes in the bullpen, and thirty seconds on the mound--not to mention fifteen hours a week, ten months a year for fifteen years--all culminated in a few seconds to advance

I come across a rear projection TV on the side of the road one day, load it up, and take it home. I eagerly spend a good four hours stripping it down and saving as much as I can. I end up with a 48” fresnel lens, two hefty speakers, a couple large capacitors, three glass lenses, and a glass mirror. Left over is a box of electronic waste and the particle board skeleton of a TV. I take the electronics to my local electronics recycling center, and set the wooden frame on the curb. I took 70 lbs. of trash and turned it into 10 lbs. of treasure ripe for projects, 30 lbs. of recyclables that would have gone to a landfill, and 30 lbs. of refuse that I had fun

Before every game, I listen to music. Whether tossing around the pigskin, shooting the rock around, or connecting with the console, I always listen to music. When it was time to leave for the game I jumped in the car and put in my headphones. It was so loud that even my father who was driving could probably hear the exact song that was blaring into my ears. My music was on all the way up to the first whistle, not even taking out my earbuds to squeeze into my tight shoulder pads. This is just part of my pregame ritual. I listen to music in some way before any game. Most people use music as entertainment or as a pastime, but I use it differently. I use music as a routine. If I listen to music before every game, the game itself will almost become second nature.

One of the last games I ever played of baseball didn't end till 10:00 pm. The game began at 7:00 and I was tired at the end of the game. The lights came on during my game and the lights only come on when it’s pitch black out. When the lights came on I knew it had to be really late for my game to end. Since my game was so late my family didn’t stay for the whole game. My dad wanted to take me home from the game since it was so late.

We all enter the complex together and head out on the field together. Me and one of my teammates warm up together. We are finished warming up and our starting pitcher walk up on the mound and starts his warmup tosses. He finishes the last one and the catcher fires the ball down to second the infield throws it around then the pitcher starts the first at bat. The first batter hits a long ball to the left fielder but he makes a nice diving catch right by the line which earns a “nice job” gesture from our pitcher. The inning ends and the opposing team's pitcher starts his warmup tosses, he was a hard throwing righty with a nice sinker. As the first hitter steps in he watches the first pitch go by. On the second pitch he rips a double down the line. Now I am up. I also take the first pitch, but on the next pitch the pitcher leaves a hanging curveball and I hit it in the gap of right field and center field. I end up on third with a stand up triple. Our number three hitter comes up and hits a fly ball to center, he catches it next to the fence but I score by tagging up. We end up winning the game 4-1 and we all go out to eat before our next game. Our next game is the game before the championship. When we get to the game we start warming up as usual. When we are finished we start the game. The first two innings are over and we have the lead 3-0. We are all excited that two more innings and if we

One cold winter afternoon, an 11 year old boy named Ben had a basketball game against the Brooklyn Nets. Ben wasn’t good at foul shots, and he knew that so he wanted to get better at them. Later that day, Ben went outside into his driveway to practice shooting foul shots. Brooke and Hunter also came to help Ben shoot. Ben made four out of the ten shots.

The lunch bell rings and I am on my phone checking the latest updates to the game. Instead of meeting with a teacher or getting started on homework during the free period, I spend it researching the tweaks in a few lines of code that will change my life for the next two weeks. The lines of code are insignificant, like the game itself, but I am absorbed in the game and the game owns me. In lieu of participating in activities after school, I rush home to continue progress in a virtual world. A world that can be turned of with the flick of a switch. Life becomes secondary to the game. My eyes burn into the night as I force myself to hurriedly finish the Tale of Two Cities reading before bed, at one o’clock in the morning.