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100% written and illustrated by kids ages 6-13

Sports


By

Softball

I had only one thought in mind, and that was: Get. To. First. I stood in the box, wriggling my toes around in my cleats along with the sand that had somehow managed to wedge itself in there. It was a hot, cloudless summer day and I regretted wearing long wool knee-high socks, though they were part of my uniform. The green-and-white bat felt heavy in my hands, as well as the large purple batting helmet atop my head. I looked nervously at the pitcher’s mound and watched as she wound up… and threw. I watched as my teammate swung…and missed. Another hit, and I’m up, I thought, another hit and all the pressure is on me. It’s not that I don’t like softball, because I do. I love throwing and catching with my teammates, going to batting cage. But the prospect of batting in a real game makes me want to crawl under a rock for a few weeks. Behind me, in the dugout, I could hear my teammates cheering. That gave me a little courage but not much. Clang! I watched the softball sail through the air. An outfielder lunged but missed the ball and it rolled neatly onto the ground. She snached it up and made a wild throw to first as my teammate rounded it then touched second. “Safe!” called the umpire, though distantly in my head. More sharply did I hear, “Batter up!” My stomach flopped around and then violently tried to eat itself, but I forced my quivering legs to walk the couple yards to home plate. It felt like miles, especially with the ump and pitcher watching expectantly. My team really needed a hit. The score was one-to-two, in our opponent’s favor. We had runners on second and third, there were two outs. My nerves were stretched almost to the breaking point, I wished someone—anyone—would do it instead of me. But nonetheless, there I was. It didn’t help that I hadn’t gotten a hit all season. My only experience with batting was swinging and missing, swinging and missing. I shouldered my bat, lined my feet up with home plate, and concentrated on the pitcher. If I was going to have to do this, I might as well try as hard as I possibly could. The pitcher wound up, and threw. I panicked, trying to remember everything I had ever learned about batting in a split second. The ball landed short at my feet, but I still made a wobbly swing. “Strike!” called the umpire. I winced. No! You knew that was a grounder, I thought, why didn’t you leave it alone? I promised myself that I wouldn’t swing at any more balls. (A ball in hitting terms is something to avoid, something unhittable.) Next pitch the softball whizzed by my shoulders and I didn’t do anything. “Strike two!” But when the next ball rolled my feet, I was ready for it, staying stiffly where I was. Three more softballs hit the dirt and my bat didn’t move. I looked up in surprise as one of the coaches rolled out the blue pitching machine. Had I really gotten four balls? Something like hope stirred up inside of me. The pitching machine! In my league, that’s what they brought out if you had four balls. It always threw perfectly, you could always swing at it. “You ready?” asked the coach.I nodded stiffly, my helmet bobbing up and down on my head. The coach brought his hand up and around, just like a real pitcher, and released. I tensed and then something inside me clicked. I was going to swing at that ball and hit it. The ball was almost upon me, I tensed, waited for just the right moment, and then swung. Hips first, then elbows, then bat just like my coach had taught me only twenty minutes before. Ball hit bat. The clang echoed around in my mind. I had done it! I hit the ball! Then the more sensible part of me reminded myself that I still had to get to first base. I dropped my bat and was off. I ran as hard and fast as I possibly could. I had only one thought in mind, and that was: Get. To. First. Adrenaline raced through my body. I wasn’t tired, or if I was I couldn’t feel it. I didn’t have time for that sort of nonsense. In seconds, I was running through first as the first-base player ran to get her missed ball. I looked to the right and saw my dad (who was also the first-base coach), a gleam of excitement in his eyes, waving his arms in an ecstatic windmill-like fashion. I knew what that meant. Keep going. I turned, dug my cleats into the dirt, and began to run to second. As I ran, I managed to turn my head a little to see what was going on in the field. One of the girls on the other team had the ball and was winding up for a throw to second. I sped up with all the strength I had left, my arms pumping at my sides. When I was only a few feet from the base, I dropped to my bottom and slid. The front half of my foot touched the base. Ball hit glove. “Safe!” called the umpire. Sonja Skye Wooley, 12Berkeley, California Caroline Troll, 11Somerset, Pennsylvania


By

Baseball

The sun beat down mercilessly on my sweaty neck. My shoulders ached. I was tired and my mouth was as dry as the Sahara. Bases were loaded. Three balls, two strikes, pressure on. I adjusted my baseball cap as I stepped carefully onto the dusty mound, fingering the ball in my right hand. Change-up, I thought. I stepped back in my windup. The ball shot out of my hand, bouncing right before the plate. The batter didn’t swing. “Ball four!” The batter set his bat down by the fence and took a base, advancing his teammates. I watched helplessly as the third-base runner happily jogged home. My team groaned. Coach called time out and jogged over to where I stood, defeated on the mound. I knew at once I was being replaced. I had just walked a batter home, but what I got instead surprised me. “You’re doing good, son, keep it up,” Coach said, slapping me hard on the back. “It’s so hot,” I complained in reply, wiping the beads of sweat from my forehead. Coach knelt so we were face to face and stared at me with his wise, chocolatey-brown eyes. “It’s baseball.” With that, he headed back to the shade of the dugout, nodding to the umpire to begin the game again. “Play ball!” “Don’t worry,” I said, acting as his coach. “Try again.” The batter stepped up to the plate, ready to jump out of the way of a bad pitch. I felt the ball in my sweaty palm. It’s baseball. I pulled my arm back like a slingshot and launched the ball. Whack! It slammed into the catcher’s leather mitt. The batter flinched but didn’t swing. “Strike!” *          *          * Thwack! My younger brother, in a third attempt to hit the ball, knocked over the black rubber tee it rested on instead. “Darn it!” he exclaimed in frustration. “Don’t worry,” I said, acting as his coach. “Try again.” He mumbled something under his breath but did as he was told. Dull gray light crept through the thick fog that hung over the field. Crisp, early morning air stung my lungs and a soft breeze rustled my sandy hair. A crow danced around on the deserted bleachers, looking for scraps. Me and my younger brother, Julian, had been at the field since seven a.m., almost two hours. Julian was new to baseball and hadn’t adapted to the hard work and discipline it takes to become a quality player. That, and he’s eight years old. Finally, he successfully hit the ball off the tee and it landed at my feet with a thud. I picked it up out of the dust and nodded with approval. “Not bad. Do it again.” Julian crossed his arms over his maroon Harvard hoodie and groaned in protest, “This is so hard!” He stretched out the words as if they were silly putty. I looked him up and down, remembering Coach’s words. “No,” I said knowingly. “It’s baseball.” Ruby DeFrank, 10Richmond, California Brayson Brown, 11Hartford, Wisconsin


By

Wings of Water

I was out on my boat, the Eaglet, for what seemed the millionth time that summer. Once more, my dad and brother had persuaded me to come out and try to water-ski again. I was standing in the middle of my boat, staring at the slightly rippling water, and wishing I had stayed home with my mom instead of coming out on the river. The murky, brown waters of the mighty Mississippi stared back at me, as if challenging me to jump in. I involuntarily shivered. I turned toward my dad and said, “Dad, can’t I try this some other time?” He sighed, “Emily, won’t you please try again? Tonight might be the night you get up! Even Jacob wants you to try,” he pleaded with me. My brother Jacob gave me his most pitiful, puppy-dog look. I realized I had lost the argument. Even so, I thought, I’m only seven years old! How am I supposed to do this?! I heaved a big sigh and started to get my two wooden water skis out. When I had them out, I gingerly lowered myself into the murky Waters of the river. I sucked in my breath as the cold water swirled around my body. My dad carefully gave me one ski. I twisted and turned as I fought with the current to get it on. Finally, my foot slid into place. My dad threw the other ski to me, and I went through the same ordeal to get it on. Then, it slid into place too. I couldn’t believe what I had been missing all these years My dad tossed me the rope. “Remember, bend your knees, and keep your skis in front of you. Just stand up and let the boat do all the work. You can do it, Em!” The motor hummed as my dad turned the key. The boat slowly started to pick up the slack on the rope. As it tightened, I tried to remember all the things that my dad had told me, but they seemed to have flown from my head. Finally, the rope was tight. I felt like I was dreaming. Distantly, I heard my dad shouting, “Just yell when you’re ready to go!” I took a deep breath, and wondering if I would ever do this, filled my lungs with air and hollered, “Hit it!” There was a roar as the engine sped up, and water was flying into my face. I gritted my teeth, and grimly hung on for dear life as I started to rise out of the water. Suddenly, it was over, and I was skimming across the water! I couldn’t believe it! I shouted from pure triumph and joy, while in the Eaglet my brother and dad were jumping up and down, waving their arms and yelling. On my face was a huge grin. I felt as if I was on top of the world! I couldn’t believe what I had been missing all these years. The spray, the roar of the motor, and wind whipping across my face were all part of my total happiness. I felt as if I were flying. On my face was a happy smile as I soared off into the sunset on the wings of water. Emily Heninger, 11Bettendorf, Iowa Susie Speicher, 13Lakewood, Washington