Monday, February 21, 2005

The Scared Little Leaguer

Steve: CV Expos
Originally uploaded by wonderbread74.
I oiled my mitt last night because I liked my mitt to be soft for my baseball games. Today we're playing the White Sox. They're the best team in our league. They've only lost one game and they have a fourth grader on their team. The rest of us were third graders. He was born in Sweden so they let him skip a grade. My Dad says it's because kids in Europe are smarter than American kids.

I'm excited because we get to play on the field with a fence and infield grass. I can make believe that I'm a real ballplayer. I asked my Mom to buy me some Big League Chew bubble gum so I could stuff a big wad of it in my cheek and spit just like some of the A's players do. Rickey Henderson is my favorite player. I wanted to wear his number 35, but our numbers only go up to 12.

At the field, my coach, Mr. O'Sullivan--I don't like him because he yells too much--put me in left field. During infield practice, Mr. O'Sullivan yelled at me because I didn't throw the ball to the cutoff man. He kept hitting me flyballs and kept yelling.

"Let's go, Tavares! Pick up your feet!"

One ball flew over my head. I picked it up and threw it as hard as I could, but the ball flew over the second baseman's head. All of sudden I didn't feel like playing today. I wanted to cry instead.

"Ahh!!! Tavares! Get in the dugout!"

As I was running past Mr. O'Sullivan, he laughed at me and put in his stepson Casey. Now I'm wasreally mad because Casey is the worst player on the team. He doesn't even know the rules of baseball! Mr. O'Sullivan walked into the dugout and didn't say anything to me. He was yelling at Casey's Mom about something through the fence so I didn't want to bother him.

The White Sox were on the field and they fielded the ball and threw it so perfectly that it made me nervous. They were only out there for less than five minutes before they ran off the field. Their coach was giving them high-fives and laughing with them. I wish I had a coach like that.

My Aunt and Uncle from San Jose were coming to the game, but they hadn't arrived yet. They're always late. My Dad calls my Aunt "The Queen" because she always does was she wants. By the fourth inning, they weren't at the game yet which was alright because I was still sitting on the bench. Our assistant coach, Harold, told me to warm up because I was going into rightfield the next inning. I picked up my mitt and started playing catch with Harold. I felt better with Harold because he didn't yell. He always called me Rickey Henderson because I could steal bases.

The bottom of the fourth came and I ran out to rightfield. It was cool because their was a fence around the outfield. I ran towards the fence and acted like I was making spectacular catches over the fence.

"Tavares! Get your head in the game!" yelled Mr. O'Sullivan.

We were winning 8-4, because the big Swedish kid kept walking everyone. Slowly the White Sox starting scoring runs and Mr. O'Sullivan kept yelling. I was getting bored because nobody was hitting the ball to me.

In the top of seventh, my Aunt and Uncle finally showed up. They sat in the bleachers with my Mom and Dad as I came to bat. The score was 8-7, now. I was scared because the Swedish boy threw much harder than anybody else in our league. My last time up was alright because he threw four balls and I walked. This time was tougher.

The first pitch came in for a strike. The second I was able to hit but it went foul. Mr. Sullivan kept yelling from the third base coaching box.

"Tavares! Stay alive! Keep your eye on the ball!"

The next pitch came in faster than the others. It was coming close to me. I tried to move out of the way, but the pitch hit me in the leg. It really hurt. I mean a lot. Mr. O'Sullivan and Harold ran towards the batter box and asked me if I was okay. I said yes but I lied. I ran to first base and tried not to rub my leg because big leaguers never rub their injuries. We didn't score anymore runs and were still winning 8-7 going into the last inning.

We were all excited because we were about to beat the best team in the league. We just needed three more outs. I ran to my position in right and checked my leg. It still hurt. There was a big red spot and the stitches of the ball were imprinted on my skin.

The White Sox loaded the bases and scored the tying run. The next batter hit a groundball to our third baseman and he let it through his legs. The White Sox scored the winning run and we lost.

Mr. O'Sullivan yelled at him really loudly. All of us were sad. Mr. O'Sullivan kicked the garbage can in our dugout and yelled at us to pick up the equipment. I was trying to put on the catcher's mask in the bag when Mr. O'Sullivan grabbed it from me.

"Tavares! You're doing it wrong! Give that to me!"

I picked up my hat and mitt and walked out the dugout towards my parents. My Mom said, "What happened?" I started crying.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?"
"Because I hurt my leg."


pryncess711 said...

omg!! what a cute little boy you were!! (dont worry you still cute today :)

You mom was lying when she said you were ugly!! j/k

MrYosemite said...

Yes, you certainly were cute. In fact, you could have been the poster boy for joto-ism.