I turned on my TV to find a classic Angels baseball game on. The first event that was shown was Pete Rose up to bat. I closed my eyes and then opened them to the ball gliding out of the pitcher's hand like a stealth bomber. Pete crushed the ball and the crowd screamed. I whispered to myself, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine." The ball was smashed to the ocean right behind the baseball diamond. Challenge excepted. Two weeks after I witnessed a man murder a ball I was invited to the junior home-run derby for an amazing thirty-five home-runs in a seventeen game season. If there is one thing I hate it has to be losing. With that thought pumping threw my brain, it drove me to train harder than I have ever before. Every day and night I did, 1000 push-ups for more power. After my morning push-ups, I would go outside to a fence post with a tire tied around it and practice my bat speed and batting footwork. Sometimes when my dad comes home on time I can go to the batting cages ,and work on my soon to be perfect swing. …show more content…
Then my dad came home in time that day, so we went to the batting cages. I step in the cage that throws bullets instead of baseballs. I line my feet up with the artificial plate. I look up to see a baseball hurdling towards me like a meteor. Even though the baseball moved ninety miles per-hour it was moving in slow motion. I turn my body to shield form the ball, but not in time. The space rock strikes my hand and shattering it like a 50 caliber sniper to the