For the Love of the Game The smell of the dirt and the fresh cut grass fills my nose and sends a tingling sensation throughout my entire body. I crunch on sunflower seeds in the corner of the stone dugout and then repeatedly spit the soggy shells at my teammates, forcing smiles to ripple across their faces. I tie up my muddy laces on my worn out Under Armour cleats and head for the dugout exit as I pop a piece of Dubble Bubble into my mouth. On the way, I grab my matte black helmet and my favorite Demarini bat, leaning up against the towering chain-link fence. I approach the plate and glare at the pitcher as I blow a sizable bubble. The pitcher begins her windup. The first pitch approaches inside and at about the height of my belly button,
…show more content…
At the age of five, my dad signed me up for recreational softball in my small hometown of Winsted, Connecticut, and my softball career began. If you were to look up the definition of softball in the dictionary, you would find it to be defined as, “a sport similar to baseball played on a small diamond with a ball that is larger than a baseball and that is pitched underhand.” But to me, the term, softball, means so much more. Softball is the place where I’ve grown. Softball is the place where my heart lies. Softball is the place where I have discovered who I am, had the privilege of learning from numerous coaches, and met some of the best friends I have ever had. I don’t consider my teammates to be just my teammates, however, but also to be my best friends and my soul sisters. Notwithstanding, one of my lifelong teammates is in fact, my little …show more content…
For the first time in our lives, we decided to go in opposite directions. As my first solo practice in the last eleven years struck, I was flabbergasted. The day finally hit. I tie up my washed, yet stained, Nike cleats and head for the dugout exit, grabbing my once adored Demarini bat as I pass the battered, rugged, fence. The months without my beloved teammate next to me have been eerie and agonizing. Nonetheless, the new cleats that now possess my feet are special to me. These cleats used to belong to my little sister. When she outgrew her cleats, I received hers. They fit like a glove. Even though I can’t look across the diamond to third base or shortstop and see her smiling yet serious face anymore, I can look at my feet and remember the many years we spent playing softball together. As I spend the next year of my life playing the sport I fervidly love, the smell of the dirt and the newly cut grass will permeate my nose and throw a warm feeling through my body, as it always has, regardless of my sister’s absence. My love for the game has only deepened since the first day I picked up that vivid, yellow
At the age of five, my dad signed me up for recreational softball in my small hometown of Winsted, Connecticut, and my softball career began. If you were to look up the definition of softball in the dictionary, you would find it to be defined as, “a sport similar to baseball played on a small diamond with a ball that is larger than a baseball and that is pitched underhand.” But to me, the term, softball, means so much more. Softball is the place where I’ve grown. Softball is the place where my heart lies. Softball is the place where I have discovered who I am, had the privilege of learning from numerous coaches, and met some of the best friends I have ever had. I don’t consider my teammates to be just my teammates, however, but also to be my best friends and my soul sisters. Notwithstanding, one of my lifelong teammates is in fact, my little …show more content…
For the first time in our lives, we decided to go in opposite directions. As my first solo practice in the last eleven years struck, I was flabbergasted. The day finally hit. I tie up my washed, yet stained, Nike cleats and head for the dugout exit, grabbing my once adored Demarini bat as I pass the battered, rugged, fence. The months without my beloved teammate next to me have been eerie and agonizing. Nonetheless, the new cleats that now possess my feet are special to me. These cleats used to belong to my little sister. When she outgrew her cleats, I received hers. They fit like a glove. Even though I can’t look across the diamond to third base or shortstop and see her smiling yet serious face anymore, I can look at my feet and remember the many years we spent playing softball together. As I spend the next year of my life playing the sport I fervidly love, the smell of the dirt and the newly cut grass will permeate my nose and throw a warm feeling through my body, as it always has, regardless of my sister’s absence. My love for the game has only deepened since the first day I picked up that vivid, yellow