All I did was swing. Just like they taught me. Elbow up, keep your eyes on the ball. If you extend your arms and let them fly, the ball will do the same. That 's what I did. I never thought this swing would send that ball flying over the fence. Especially at 10 years old. It was weird, swinging the bat and feeling just a slight vibration from the barrel. To look up, seeing a small sphere fade off into the distance. A shooting star. Getting to run around the bases as slow as you want to. Slow motion, the whole experience. I flung my Easton Stealth IMX Bat off to the side as I--Well, I lied. The bat wasn 't really mine. I took it from Jacob Cooper because his had more pop than mine and I knew it would make him mad. That it did. Nevertheless,
…show more content…
Not kidding, our family physician told my mother he had never seen an infant born with such strong abdominal muscles. From the age of two he watched The Sandlot on VHS just about every day. He started tee ball, which turned into live pitch, which turned into playing for the high school, which turned into playing college ball at Little Rock. In my mind I would never be better than my brother. His skillset just never seemed to be synonymous with me. I wasn 't as athletically gifted, and didn 't think I had the talent or coordination to make the Pfeiffer boys be two-for-two when it came to playing ball. Though, sometimes I shined. I caught my first pop fly when I was five, apparently that was a cool thing to do. I was also one of the few kids who could throw a ball from third base to third. Go …show more content…
Jacob Cooper was indeed mad that I hit the first home run with his new bat. As I got back to the dugout it finally hit me I could take a five ounce ball and send it flying 200 feet with a twenty-one ounce piece of aluminum. In that moment I could feel the fire in my heart that longed for this sport. In that moment I felt as if I was the best. My mom came over to the dugout afterwards and told me she got a picture of the swing. I was ecstatic. My dad was proud too, I 'm sure. I wish I could have seen his face when that left fielder watched the ball travel over the fence. Maybe then he would have seen me as a baseball player as opposed to a follow-up to his first born, a son he could cheer for. Had he shown up to the game, I know he would have been happy.
Sports still reign in my head. I don 't play them anymore, and I have to be okay with that. Austin always loved the game more than me. Dad always loved Austin 's game more than mine. We still sit around and talk about when Austin played for the Trailblazers or the Bulldogs, or that time when Austin got the baseball stuck inside his pants leg, or the time he hit a 500 foot homerun in El Dorado. I can 't recall talking about my games, my tournaments, my accomplishments. Perhaps there 's nothing to talk
Not kidding, our family physician told my mother he had never seen an infant born with such strong abdominal muscles. From the age of two he watched The Sandlot on VHS just about every day. He started tee ball, which turned into live pitch, which turned into playing for the high school, which turned into playing college ball at Little Rock. In my mind I would never be better than my brother. His skillset just never seemed to be synonymous with me. I wasn 't as athletically gifted, and didn 't think I had the talent or coordination to make the Pfeiffer boys be two-for-two when it came to playing ball. Though, sometimes I shined. I caught my first pop fly when I was five, apparently that was a cool thing to do. I was also one of the few kids who could throw a ball from third base to third. Go …show more content…
Jacob Cooper was indeed mad that I hit the first home run with his new bat. As I got back to the dugout it finally hit me I could take a five ounce ball and send it flying 200 feet with a twenty-one ounce piece of aluminum. In that moment I could feel the fire in my heart that longed for this sport. In that moment I felt as if I was the best. My mom came over to the dugout afterwards and told me she got a picture of the swing. I was ecstatic. My dad was proud too, I 'm sure. I wish I could have seen his face when that left fielder watched the ball travel over the fence. Maybe then he would have seen me as a baseball player as opposed to a follow-up to his first born, a son he could cheer for. Had he shown up to the game, I know he would have been happy.
Sports still reign in my head. I don 't play them anymore, and I have to be okay with that. Austin always loved the game more than me. Dad always loved Austin 's game more than mine. We still sit around and talk about when Austin played for the Trailblazers or the Bulldogs, or that time when Austin got the baseball stuck inside his pants leg, or the time he hit a 500 foot homerun in El Dorado. I can 't recall talking about my games, my tournaments, my accomplishments. Perhaps there 's nothing to talk