Circle

Essay by bunkbedbuddyA+, October 2003

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The Circle

In the game of baseball everything has its own unique personality, from the bench in the dugout to the playing field, which you play on. They all look at you in a different way. The one that gives me the best perspective is the on deck circle. As soon as I step into the circle everything comes alive, like it's a whole new world.

Everything starts in the circle. Walking onto the dirt marking the circle off. I feel the dirt under my cleats so dry still soft like a newborn baby. I pick up the bat while also picking up the hint of pine tar on the bat grip. I play with the bat like it's a person, as if to get used to him or her. The press box talks, calling out the batter's name and my name. After this the fans start to cheer and yelling chants at the other team.

Back in the dugout my teammates are cheering the batter and me on longing for us to get a hit. Between the white lines, there's another team playing the game. They are also cheering, but not for us but for themselves and each other. All this takes place in the first few seconds while in the circle.

Other things start to hit me. Not a ball or a person, but the thing surrounding me, the air. The air's sweet aroma fills my nostrils, bringing to me the sweat from myself and the other players. A little hint of victory is also in the mix. I bring my head up, putting the field before my eyes. The other team is walking around, getting into position for the pitch, and possibly thinking what they will do if they get the ball. The field beneath...