If there is one place, I call home other than my own house, it would be the diamond. For me, baseball is not a monotonous sport. It takes an intelligent person to play and understand the game of baseball.
As a second baseman, playing in the infield the right way is my priority. As I jog onto the field, out to my position, I the scent of food from the concession stands fills my nose. I hear the crowd roaring like lions, cheering us on for the last inning.
I bend my knees into my fielding position. My eyes are glued to the baseball. A left handed batter is in the box; the baseball is coming to me. Baseballs have been hit at me all day. I have not made an error all game. I have all the confidence in the world. My veins are popping out of my skin. My heart is pounding like cheetahs chasing prey. The pitcher winds up for the pitch.
Crack! The ball is traveling at light speed towards my glove side. Like I have done this a thousand times before, I turn towards the projected meeting point of my glove and the baseball. I spring at the baseball, fully extended, like swatting that annoying housefly at home.
Smack! On the ground I lay; the umpire rushes at me ready to make the call. I lift my glove in the air. I can see the red stitches of the hidden baseball beneath the grass clippings and clay.
The umpire screeches, “Out!” My team has won the game! I hop onto my feet and beat my chest like a gorilla marking his territory. My teammates pile onto me, giving me high fives that leave my hands like roses. We are going to the playoffs.
