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The End Is Near

America’s pastime. We got the great bambino, the sultan of swat, the say hey kid, the freak. We got the loud, the soft spoken, the flat out obnoxious, and even the sweet caring guys. Baseball has everything. Baseball was my everything, but that all changed on one sunny happy day at Keizer field.
My dream at the time was to become a major league baseball player. I was only thirteen and didn’t know what the odds were so I knew in the back of my mind that I was gonna do it. One of the only memories I have from my young child hood was at a baseball game when I was only about 4 years old. I was crying because the cotton candy man had just sold out his last sugary death on a stick. So to get me to shut up my mom said that barry bonds could hear me from the stands and wouldn’t hit a home run if I didn’t be quiet. So naturally I shut it just to see if she was telling the truth. His next at bat: whaaaapppp. The ball soared out of the park and into the bay. At the time I thought I had power over the game itself and was purely amazed. That was the beginning for my love of baseball. Ever since I had been standing in the backyard pretending I was Albert pujols with a 3 -2 count in the bottom of the ninth with bases loaded down by three. When my friends would throw me the ball, id hit it and no matter how far it went in real life, in my little fantasy world, it was as good as gone. But all of this love shortly feel out one day. In August of last year my fall ball team had just been getting started and I was the starting second basemen. We had practices every day and it was the most fun I had been having all summer. Getting to go out and play with your friends for 3 hours and do the sport you love while you’re at it. I’d take that any day. So one day I was practicing and we were doing double groundballs. My arm was starting to get a little sore and I knew it. But as every cliché ridding man has to do, I fought through it. Later on in the practice, my arm was now uncomfortable. Like to the point where even I was worried. Looking back on it now, I think I had made myself believe that I was fine and that this was just one of those days. Well guess what. It wasn’t. My last throw of the day. The ball popped and skipped its way across the dirt path towards me and I knew that I just had to make this one last throw and it would all be over. I could go home and Ice it up. But mid-way through the throw, I felt a crack and heard a pop and I knew something very serious had just gone down. Turns out later on I would find out that I had broken a bone into my joint and then that bone had wedged itself inside the joint so it couldn’t move. But at the time I didn’t know this so while coach and the rest of the players ran towards me, the only thing I could feel was the icy cold feeling that was running up my arm. I went home and iced it that night. Next morning, nothing. Nothing had changed. My arm was still locked in place and I couldn’t move it. Weeks went by and still no change. So that’s when the word started floating around. Surgery. And now my worst nightmare was really coming true. For any baseball player, his throwing arm is his best friend. You need it for everything. Running throwing catching hitting. So for me, this was me getting fired from baseball. “Thanks Chris for all the time you’ve put in with us, but we feel it’s time for a change of scenery. Maybe Polo”. Now while I’m reading this I know most of you are thinking “wow this is cheesy. It’s just a sport” But for me it wasn’t. Baseball was one of the only things that could pull me away. Really relax me. And now it might be taken from me. There’s an old baseball saying “It may not be today and it may not be tomorrow, but at some point baseball will come to end. That goes for everyone.” And for me that day seems closer than others.


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