Why I Love Baseball.

One of the few bright spots in my youth came in the form of little league baseball. While wandering around the neighborhood one day, I discovered a ball field. From the other side of the chain link fence, I watched the game, the kids, the cheers-I wanted to be a part of it all. With my older sister Angelina’s help, I washed cars for the neighbors and saved up the $20 registration fee and declared myself ready to play.
My first year on the field was a freaking disaster! The coach started me at first base but after displaying my inability to hit, throw or catch, I was quickly moved to the bench. After showing his support for one inning, I was designated the ‘strike out king’ by my father. My biggest fan was Angelina who walked me to and from every game. Although she was clueless when it came to sports my big sister was always there for me.
My rookie season mercifully ended with my name nowhere to be found in the all-star lineup. That off season I vowed to improve. Playing catch with dad was not an option, so I improvised and did so in the form of a tennis ball. With a little help from the side of the house, I fielded ground balls, pop ups and line drives for hours.
A few games into my second season, I made contact with the ball and squeezed a little duck fart over the second baseman’s head. I guess tossing up rocks and hitting them with a stick had finally paid off. Reaching first base, I looked around for my father but I guess he was still on the couch.

GO RED SOX!!