Practice Makes a Pitcher
After failing to make Little League, I refused to quit. Pee-wee League was starting soon—even if the name stung a bit. Dad told me about Babe Ruth’s 300 swings a day. Inspired, I chalked a strike zone on our wall and turned our driveway into a baseball diamond. I pitched for hours, day after day. Fastballs first, then came the challenge—curve balls and drops. Dad showed me grip and arm motion. It didn’t come easy, but I kept throwing.
When Pee-wee started, I got my shot. Everyone got to play, and I earned my position—pitcher. My team won most of our games. When the season ended, I was picked for the all-star team. That game—my confidence was sky-high. I pitched no-hit innings, striking out batter after batter. We won 3-0. That day, I was the hero—and I finally felt like I belonged on the mound.
No comments:
Post a Comment