On a warm summer morning I like being on a baseball field. There I can be myself and enjoy the game of baseball. I like the warm moist air and the breeze blowing across my face. When I am standing in the middle of the field looking all around me, I notice the dark dewy green grass. I can smell the fresh air from the nearby river, and I can hear the birds chirping in the trees surrounding the field. I pick up a handful of dirt from the newly groomed infield and let it slide slowly out of my hand as the wind takes it across the field.

I walk over to the newly painted dugout and see a bag of sunflower seeds. I reach down and grab a few and shove them in my mouth. They taste stale and warm from the sun beating down on them for the past two weeks. I quickly spit them out and take a drink of my chilled Artic Freeze Gatorade.

I walk over to the pitcher’s mound and stand on it. It reminds me of when I played my last game of the season last year. I remember that game like it was yesterday. I was on the Yankton Black Soxs, and the score was tied at four. It was the bottom of the ninth with bases loaded, two outs, and the count was full. I stepped up to the plate. I was very nervous. The pitch came, and I hit a line drive down the third base line. The runner scored, and we won the game. That was the best game of my life.

The past few years I have been winning and losing games on this field. It has become a major part of my life. These memories of being on the baseball field will always be with me.