Personal Narrative: Why I Love Baseball

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Pages: 3

I love baseball. Every time the season starts I think about all the great moments I’ve had on the diamond. I don't think you can really appreciate the game as much if you haven’t skipped over the chalk lines, sweated the team cuts, and spent time figuring out your “place” on the field. But, baseball is not just about the game, it's about the players, your team mates. Every time the season starts I think about Eric “Whitey”, a toe headed, savant on the field who graced me with the very best moment I’ve ever had in all my time between the bases.

The magic took place during an early Mid-west evening. It was a hot summer which suited me fine, it meant I could easily wear my favorite uniform, Levis cutoffs, cleats (no socks) and the team T. This choice in gear also explains why I have many remembrances of strawberries, scars, taken as I slid into the bases socks less and pantless. I don’t mind. I love these scars.
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It was like I was a magnet for everything the opposing team hit. Line drive, got it. Bad hop, backhand, grounder, snag, mine. High pop fly to short right, give the wave off and two hand cage the leather. One of the guys on the other team (I was playing first) said, laughingly to me, as I grabbed his grounder and tapped first base for the out. "So, you gunna let anyone else play this game today?" It was cool to hear the admiration in his voice. I’ve never been a hotdog player so, that someone other than my own team mates noticed, it meant a