It was the end of my baseball season, and for me, it was one of the biggest moments of my life. My Little League team was playing in the championship game. The game was tied, 6-6. I had worked so hard all season long, and this was my first championship. We were going to extra innings. The game was on the line, and to add to that pressure, the president of the whole Little League was in the stands.
I came up to bat with the bases loaded and two outs. I slowly walked up to the plate. Digging my spikes into the dirt, I tapped the end of the plate with my bat. Then, I got into my stance, ready for the pitcher to throw. Just before the pitcher threw, I exhaled, trying to release all of the nervousness I had.
I took the first pitch, but the umpire called it strike one. The next pitch came in way too high. Ball one. The next pitch I took a hack at, but I fouled it off for a 1-2 count. The next pitch was way outside, so I took it to even the count at two balls and two strikes. When the pitcher threw again, I got ready to swing. When I did, I hit a long fly to right field. When that ball landed, it landed right on the foul line. I was at second base now, jetting toward third. As I got to third base, my coach was waving me home. I sprinted as hard as I could. The throw was coming in, too high for the catcher to get a tag on me as I slid into home, safely.
As I crossed home plate, I got mobbed by my teammates. Nobody had hit a grand slam that season, and this was the championship! Well, there's something to be happy about, I thought as I sat back down.
Before the game, my parents were telling me: "Mark, it's just a baseball game, it's no big deal." I was trying to tell them that it was a big deal to be in the championship game. If you play sports, you would understand my feeling, too. After playing hard for all those games just to get to the championships, you'd feel happy about winning, too.