My Life and Baseball

For many kids the dream of becoming a professional athlete usually begins at an early age, when an extraordinary event occurs that changes the person’s life forever. This was the case for me, as my life would change forever when my dad gave me my first baseball glove when I was only five years old. You could say at that moment my dream of becoming a professional baseball player had begun. Like every kid who dreams of turning into the next Derek Jeter or Miguel Cabrera, they all must start from a humble beginning in youth baseball organizations all across the country. The place I’m talking about is called little league, and it’s where all journeys begin, and legends are born.

My first taste of organized baseball started for me at the age of six, when I signed up for my town’s local baseball organization, called Vassar Little League. The name of my team was the Rockies, and my dad was the assistant coach. I couldn’t wait for the season to start up, but I didn’t realize at the moment of my team’s first practice that playing baseball at the fairgrounds would become a routine for the next 10 years.

I can vividly remember the sight of opening day at Vassar Little League. The chained fences were decorated with red, white and blue banners. The air was filled with the smell of hot dogs and burgers being cooked on grills. The grass was fresh cut with the dirt seeming to blend in with the outfield. It was amazing to see because up until that moment, I had never experienced an opening day celebration that I would actually be a part of.  At the opening ceremony, each team got a chance to be introduced to all the parents, as well as the other teams in different age levels. After the introductions, the founder of Vassar Little League, which opened 40 years before that day, threw out the ceremonial first pitch of the season. It was finally time to play baseball!

 My first game was something I will never forget. It all started with my first at bat. I remember having two strikes on me, and the pitcher throwing what seemed like blazing speed. Now, I understand that he probably wasn’t even throwing 40 mph, but at the time it seemed like 100. Nevertheless, I recall focusing in on the next pitch, swinging as hard as I could, hitting the ball over the first baseman’s outstretched glove and into the outfield. I was ecstatic at the fact that I got my first hit, and it gave me a boatload of confidence for the rest of the season.

After my first year, I decided to keep playing baseball as long as I could. I played in Vassar Little League through grade school all the way up until eighth grade, when I had to stop playing because of my age. I tried out for my high school baseball team every year, but never made the roster. Most people today ask me why I didn’t make the cut, and the response I give back to them is that the coach told me they couldn’t take everyone that tried out. Every time I was told this, the coach would tell me that it wasn’t because I was bad, just the fact that the kids I grew up with were just a little better than I was. People I’m closest with today ask me why I didn’t just quit if that was the case. I usually smile and explain to them that it wasn’t the end of the world if I didn’t make the team. I tried out because I love to play baseball, and nothing will ever change that.