Baseball Fields Make Memories

    Fresh cut grass, the usual community baseball fans eating handful after handful of sunflower seeds, and the clock striking four. Also known as game time. I quickly open up my bad and obtain my black and white NIKE baseball gloves. Putting on my helmet I pick out my weapon of choice. The Anderson Techzilla.

After two quick runners on base, it is my turn to step up to the plate and do my job. I placed my right foot in and followed was my second one. I swayed the bat back and forth as a reminder to myself to keep calm, and relax. Pow. Ball 1. The ball had hit the mit and was nowhere close to the strike zone. I readjusted myself ready for the next pitch. As the pitcher went through his motion, I got this feeling deep down inside. The ball was in the air,and right in my zone a focused on the ball swung hard, and it sailed over the fence.

    My first home run as a 12 year old. I'll never forget Fitzugh Park.

I went on to hit three more home runs that game. Back to back to back to back. The first time that it had ever happened in Batesville All Star history.

    Almost a year later, I find myself in Kansas City, Missouri for the 13 year old world series. We had mad it there from winning a certain amount of tournaments and being one the best team in Arkansas.

    8:00 a.m. We are at the field, mildew on the grass. Not another soul was there besides our team and our competition. Its game time now, and I'm more than ready. The stands are now packed for the first game of the world series. My turn to bat. I'm anxious and at the same time scared out of my mind. I go through my usual routine, right foot dug in where I'd like and followed by my left. I remind myself to stay calm, do me, and have fun. The first pitch is thrown, I load my left leg, get my hands back, foot down and turn on the first pitch I saw. It was a home run that towered over the field and one that everyone thought was going to splash in the pond. All of a sudden, the ball, still rising, strikes the light pole and rebounds an estimated 20 feet back onto the field. As I round third base, I look at my coach. He gives me a handshake accompanied by a smile, and a kindhearted "Atta boy." I'll never forget it.

   Two seasons, two birthdays, and two summers afterward, I'm playing baseball with my showcase team in Houston, Memphis. We go by the name of Arkansas Royals, wearing the colors of royal blue and white. We are playing in a major tournament with some of the best teams around. So exciting.

   Its the top of the 7th, our team is down by one run with no outs. The 9 spot hitter reaches base with a walk, and is pinch ran for because he is our pitcher. The next two players were supposed to do their best to get him all the way to third for me to try and tie it up. Things don't always go as planned. 2 batters, 2 strikeouts. So now its all up to me to try and tie it up with a runner on first with two outs. My knees are week, palms are sweaty. My arms seem as if the weigh 20 pounds each. I dig into the box, with same routine I had whenever I was 13. I'm focusing on not the present at bat, but the last ones I had when I wasn't successful. I inhale and exhale clearing my mind. The first pitch is thrown, high and tight dusting me off the plate. I'm more nervous than I've ever been. I readjust waiting for the next pitch. He winds up, and lets it go. Right in my wheelhouse, so I just trust my hands and let the bat do the work. Next thing I know the ball is sailing over the left field fence for a two-run go ahead  home run to give us the lead. We would go on to win the game. I can't even explain the excitement that I endured. 

   Playing the game of baseball is something some people do for fun. I do it not for just that reason but because its life, and it is what I love. I've played many places in my career, and each one leaves a special memory deep in my heart.