Literacy Narrative A Love for BaseballThe count was 3 balls, 2 strikes and I was preparing for the sixth pitch of the at-bat. The score was tied 5 to 5 with the winning run on third base. Thoughts of becoming the hero flutter my mind. The pitcher winds up, strides towards home plate and releases the ball. I am thinking fastball, but anticipating the rare curveball. The red seams race over top of each other as the ball embarks on its parabolic journey. I recognize the breaking ball, keep my weight back, and unload on what would be the pitchers final pitch. The 75 millimeter ball rolls just out of reach of the shortstop while the winning run crosses home plate. I had just gotten my first ever walk-off hit; I had fallen in love with Americas pastime. While my game winning hit for the Alamance Patriots 12u baseball team added greatly to my love of the game, the bond between baseball and myself sparked years earlier, arguably before I was born. My father grew up in a suburban area of the Piedmont-Triad with 2 brothers. With neither brother really being the sports fanatic that my father was, my dad seemed a bit of an oddball in the family. My father adopted this unique love for baseball. However, since there was no major league baseball team confided in North Carolina, there was no team for my father to side with on the basis of geographic proximity. There was, however, Michael Jack Schmidt, star Philadelphia Phillies third baseman and power hitter. It was my fathers admiration of Schmidts ability to efficiently hit the long ball that forged his love for baseball. This love for baseball, the Philadelphia Phillies, and Mike Schmidt continued over the years. When I was a young boy, it was this love that my father had that propelled my passion for baseball. My father and I have always held an unbreakable bond through baseball. I can remember very clearly the 2008 World Series, in which the Phillies were combatting the Tampa Bay Rays. I remember my fathers hands shoot up as Brad Lidge delivered the third strike to the Tampa Bay hitter, capturing the second World Series pennant for the boys from Philadelphia. It seemed as if time had stopped still. All I could hear was my father giving a cheerful, Whoo Hoo, Baby!, as he delivered a high five that nearly pulled my arm out of socket. Although the only contribution my father and I made to the championship team was cheering them on from the comfort of our home, I felt as if my father and I had won the entire Fall Classic on our own.It was the evening of a cool spring day and the middle of a Creekside Diamondbacks tee-ball game. The mothers and fathers were lined up behind the small, 20-foot tall backstop to see their children play baseball. My father, who coached the team of eleven 5-year olds, was enjoying every second he had to influence a child with the game of baseball. Our team was playing the field as the coach of the other team was preparing to toss the first pitch to the hitter of his team. He releases the ball, the hitter from the other team unloads on the ball, sending a rocket my way. I reach out for the ball, open my glove, and listen to the smack of the cork hitting the leather. I raced to my dad after making the catch. The energy on his face seemed to transfer to me, making me feel like I could jump 10-feet high. I had made my dad proud by catching a baseball, and that helped me love the game.I thoroughly enjoyed baseball, from my early tee-ball days, to long practices with the UNC Charlotte club team; however, such as the old saying goes, No pain, no gain. Baseball was not always easy and it did not always come natural. Like when becoming literate in any subject, there are discouraging moments that will make you want to walk away from it. It was the bottom of the last inning, and I was the last hope for my team. The pitcher winds up, releases the ball, and I watched the third strike go by. Full of anguish, I walked back to the dugout, packed my things, and headed to the post-game meeting with tears creeping down my face. I had struggled the last half of the season, and had been more frustrated than ever. I felt as if I just could not catch a single break. I needed to learn a very important lesson about perseverance. Over the next few weeks, I worked extremely hard with my trainer, hoping to never experience the feelings of slumping as I did. I wanted to make myself the best baseball player I could be. The hard work began to pay off, and the previous failures began to seem as building blocks for my success. I made my middle school baseball team and earned a starting spot in the lineup as a 7th grader, a feat that was rare to Archdale-Trinity Middle School. The next season, as an 8th grader, I hit for a solid .348 batting average. Hall of Fame hitter and Boston Red Sox great Ted Williams once said, Great hitters arent born, theyre made; theyre made out of hard work and dedication.As I became older, baseball became more and more of a routine. I played baseball in all 4 seasons, except for winter. My father once told me when I was in the 9th grade that I had already played more baseball than he did over the course of his entire life. I became very familiar with all of the customs that were associated with the game. For example, you could never cross any 2 bats that laid against the fence in the dugout. This is the point in my baseball career in which I began to understand the values of baseball. I understood the game, performed at a high level, and engulfed myself in the baseball world. I had the pleasure of playing with the Hitoms, a summer baseball organization for high school baseball players. The idea of the club was to bring together baseball players from multiple high schools to form a high-performance team. While the team usually underachieved in performance, it was a wonderful experience as far as meeting different baseball personalities. This team was a major sponsor of literacy in forming my understanding of baseball and all of the personalities that make it up. My high school baseball experience managed to display all of the components, good and bad, of a saturated baseball career. I experienced success and failure, but I worked very hard to keep up with and challenge the level of play of my best friends. My friend Beau Myers, brother of starting San Diego Padres superstar Wil Myers, was the subject of my friendly feud. I recall long hours spent in the batting cage working with Beau, each of us trying to show up the other. After each round of hitting baseballs, wed test our skills in the field of basketball, where we would see who could shoot more baseballs into the bucket. Beau proved to be a very great friend, and our friendship, mixed with a hearty competitive edge helped me to better myself as a baseball player. Despite a disappointing senior year, I consistently hit leadoff for my high school team, posting a .336 batting average my junior season. I was also named to the All-Conference team my junior season and earned my programs Hustle Award in each of my junior and senior years. Beau also benefitted from our competitive mindsets, leading his team to the 2015 state finals and signing to extend his career at Appalachian State University, where he is currently a freshman. As for his brother, his brother is the former AL Rookie of the Year and is preparing to sign a 7 figure contract.Throughout my entire life, I have surrounded myself in a baseball atmosphere. With high school and competitive baseball over, I fully intend on doing all that I can to stay in touch with the game that I love. Baseball has done an immense amount of good for me, from teaching me lessons that are applicable to daily life, to supplying me with an amazing hobby to spend my nights. The process of becoming literate in baseball has been a long, enjoyable one that involves maturing from phase to phase until I reach a greater understanding of the game. Now that I will be able to observe the game from a spectators perspective, I am anxious to see what lessons baseball has to convey to me in the future.