Play Ball

Striiiiike, batter out! proclaimed the umpire. Grrrreat I moaned. Dont worry, you can do this. All you need to do is get our other girl on base in. my father explained. Now that was the second out. All they needed is one more and the game would have been over. The score was 7 to 6, but we were behind. The rest of my team is packing everything away waiting to shake the other teams hands, accepting defeat. This made it feel that losing the game was now inevitable. Although most thought the game was going to be over, we still had a fighting chance because one of my teammates was on one of the bases. Since softball requires three outs, I had to bat. As I placed my helmet snug on my head, I walked out onto the field. Go, you can do this! my teammates cheered. As I was entered onto the field and into the batters box, the wind was whipping through the dewy grass and spraying dirt all over the players in the field. I tried to sooth my racing heartbeat by controlling my breathing to a slow, steady pace. Watching the pitcher, I noticed that she was mentally playing with me as she watched the catcher behind home plate, giving signals on the pitch to throw. She played with the softball in her glove trying to find the best grip on the ball. It was too quiet; both stands of fans and parents were frozen to their seats, just starring.

When she finally released the ball by her hip, throwing her whole body into the pitch and grunting to pull all of her strength into the ball, I watched the ball as it is being released and it was twisting and turning, flying towards me. I closed my eyes and swung as hard as I could. All I heard was the loud thunderous crack of my bat. The noise scared me at first and then I opened my eyes and saw the ball gliding into the sky. It didnt stop; it wouldnt stop. I started to run; couldnt think about the ball anymore or where it went, just keep running I told myself. My coaches, including my father, kept pointing and yelling Ruuun! Then I looked over to the umpire and he walked out into the middle of the pitching mound. Thats game! the umpire shouted. I hit a homerun, a homerun! My homerun won us the game. The wave of relief that coated my body eased my anxiety. So much ringing in my ears from the stands and my teammates yelling and shouting in rejoice. My teammates ran along the dugout and waited for me. With a smile on my face, I finally walked back to home plate, where it all started. It all started for me was when I was just a young girl, four years old, and it was my first day at tee-ball; perfect age for the brain to absorb knowledge. Of course like most of the other kids with me, I had no clue how to play any sport let alone tee-ball. My father, the one who has shown me just about everything there is to know about sports, was going to be my very first coach and my last coach. All the kids lined up in a line and we had our oversized bats and helmets making us look like crazed astronauts, being clumsy and uncoordinated. Each one of us walked up to the plate, with the tee and ball in front of us, and sung as hard as we could with all

little strength we had in our tiny bodies, sounding like little piglets. Most of the kids hit the ball successfully but there were some, like me, who had a hard time connecting the bat to the ball. After my disappointing day at practice, my father pulled me aside, as my face was puffy and snotty from crying about my lack of talent, and said Not everybody gets it on the first try princess. All the other kids hit the ball, why couldnt I do it? I questioned. You just need some more practice, my father stated. He guided me through step by step on how to hold and use the bat by having me watching him swing the bat. After he demonstrated how to swing the bat properly, I practiced and practiced on my swing, with him supervising of course. He would always correct me when the swing was wrong. Not like that, swing with your hips and use your legs for power. If you step like this, then you will have a better chance at hitting the ball he advised. Then when we had another scheduled hitting practice, I was surly confident on hitting the ball. Each one took their turn hitting the ball then my turn was slowly but surely coming up; getting more nervous the closer I was. I was afraid to do it wrong. Now it was my turn, too late to turn back now. Doing what my father taught me and from repeatedly practicing my swing, my body and muscle remembered as well. I looked at the ball and swung the enormously heavy bat and tink. I hit the ball. So happy and filled with joy, I ran to my father and hugged him. Did you see that?! I did it just like you taught me! I screeched. You did, good job. Now how about you go back and try again? he asked.

I just ran back and keep hitting, so proud of myself and the hard work it took me to be able to hit the ball. If it wasnt for my father, my sponsor of literacy, I probably wouldnt have hit the ball that day or been as good as I was throughout my softball career. After many years playing softball, I have become very talented in the sport. But, because of my weight and lack of speed I was very slow. How would you like to go to a speed and agility trainer? my father asked. Um, like where you runa lot? I hesitantly asked. Yes, the trainers name is Horace and he has worked with famous football, basketball and baseball players around the United States. Oh, ok. Then I guess I will go, I regretfully said. Good, you start tomorrow. The next day, my father and I drove to a building, a very ordinary building. All the buildings around it were painted the same color, a dull gray. Is this the right place? I asked. It should be. Lets go inside, my dad said. We both walk in and the inside of the facility looks quite different compared to the outside of the place. Most people wouldnt even know that this place existed here. Then tall, large, dark man greets me and my father. Hello! Welcome to Fuel Performance, he happily greeted. What can I do for ya?

I need help with my running, I explained. Well, youve come to the right place. After a year with working with Hoarce, he had shown me the correct way to run. He was very encouraging when working out became difficult and physically painful. He helped me lose over 30 pounds and taught me the correct way to work out and eat. Without Horace, I would probably be very overweight and unhealthy. After working with Horace, I was able to use his advice and run faster than before. Horace taught me a new way to run and which also help improve my sport literacy. Sport literacy is probably the one I can relate to the most because I was involved with sports for most of my life. Horace, my personal trainer, helped me develop my literacy by teaching me a few factors, such as running and stamina, which played a part in sports. My father was my most influential sponsor of literacy. I believe that family is one of the most influential sponsors of literacy. My father has always been the one who has been by my side the entire time and has given me the tools of opportunity to improve myself such as my first day playing teeball. As I said before, without him, I wouldnt have the slightest clue about sport literacy.