“Break a leg” is one of the most common words of encouragement. While growing up, that is all I heard when playing sports. This along with a few “Do your best” and “Just have fun with it” are told to kids everywhere. If there is no fun, no enjoyment will take place, and whatever sport I am playing will be a waste of my time. Winning isn’t always the only way to have fun, and while growing up, this was taught to me many years ago by coaches. Practice, for example, is one event that held a plethora of entertaining events. Practice is the one place I can be myself and let loose. At times, practice needs this to get the team motivated for practice. Judgment is not made for what I do or how I do it. By just being myself and always trying, coaches recognized me and gave me an opportunity to prove myself.

Baseball, however, is not all about fun. For some athletes, it does not just start the first practice. Hours upon hours are spent in the weight room with sweat dripping from my nose. My hands are ripped open. Not just lifting weights will get me to greatness though. Miles upon miles must be run to make sure I can perform at my highest peak of performance the whole game. Sacrifices must be made and challenges will be faced. The opportunity to give up crosses my mind every single day. It’s up to me whether or not I have the determination and fight to overcome such situations. ‘Am I willing to give it my all and not give in to the enduring pain?’ Because if I do give in, failure will be awaiting at the doors of opportunity, and it will shut it and lock it until next season. No, this is not a sport where people can just walk in, show up, and be great.

After all the hard work had been made and challenges had been faced, it was time to get into the game: the playoffs. The feeling that occurs when I was in the batter’s box was heart pounding. It was just the pitcher and me in what seemed like a stare down until he received the sign from the catcher. The anxious feeling I experienced while waiting for newly used ball to cross the plate was unbearable. Once it went by me, I wish I wouldn’t have blinked. “Strike one,” the umpire shouted, and I stood ready for the next pitch, telling myself, ‘You won’t let this one go by.’ I looked at the third base coach while he gave me the signs.

“Take a deep breath and hit like you do in practice,” I heard from the dug out while awaiting the pitch. The ball approached, and I swung with all my might. “Strike two” was heard, and the determination to hit it this time could be seen from people in the crowd. I stepped out to take a deep breath, and I said a little prayer. Now it was time to show the crowd what I could do. Here came the ball flying. It was seen, and I know I’m going to hit it. The swing was made. “Strike three. You’re out!”

At this moment, it was in the bottom of the seventh; bases were loaded, and we were down by one. This game took place in a playoff game so close to the state championship tournament. I walked back to the dug out, thinking upon the off season. I had guilty thoughts: ‘I wish I would have done this.’ ‘I wish I would have done that.’ Tears streamed down my face and ran down my burnt cheeks from the sun.

A week after this started the off season. Living with the thought of being so close to the taste of victory was left lingering in my mouth until next season. ‘How will this last season reflect my next?’ I will let it drive me to make it to state. Mediocrity is not an option for me. I will to never let this happen again and to not let my team down next year. Failure, unlike last time, will not shut the door of opportunity on me.