You Have Got To Love The Baseball Glove

My Hand Held Pleasure

Baseball, the cheer of the crowd, the crack of the bat, the smell of fresh snacks being sold in the stands. Ah, baseball is my absolute favorite competitive sport because there are many pieces of equipment in this game that are used to make it a little less painful. Soccer has shin pads but they do squat to protect you from getting stomped on by cleat spikes, climbing has helmets and support ropes but don't even get me started on how much pain you receive when you're being let down. Batting helmets, bats, bases, balls, cleats, uniforms, and many other “tools” play their part in the world of baseball. My personal favorite is the glove.

I started taking an interest in the sport when I was around six and a half. Every year, when we would go to visit our relatives, I would always tag along and watch my cousins play Middle league baseball. During their practice I would throw the ball around with the team rapidly, having the ball snap in my hand and whiz out once more with a pitch. My hand would be sore afterward though.

On my seventh birthday, when my relatives came to visit us, my uncle took me to the store to let me get a gift with my allowance and I knew exactly what I wanted. Second row down, third one to the left, the baseball mitt I had been coveting for a long time. I used to rush to the sports section to check if it was there, whenever we went shopping in that store. I had been waiting for the day that I could make enough money to buy that comfy hand piece. I scurried over to the stand and picked it up, sliding onto my hand. It was a bit big, but that was exactly what I wanted, over time I could grow into it.

When we got home, I darted to the backyard and snatched up the nearest ball lying on the ground. I was anxious as ever to try out my new glove and I didn’t want to waste any time doing it. My uncle and cousins were pleased that I had taken an interest in baseball, but didn’t want to rush me. They showed me the warm ups for throwing and catching mostly. By the time they had finished my hand was very sore, but not as sore as it would’ve been had I not used my mitt. I broke that glove in with a little work and I have had it for a good five years now. My hand has gotten a wee bit big for it, though, so now I use a different one and I have passed my glove onto my sister, who when she outgrows it, will give it to my little brother, when he can fit into it. I still try to use the glove as a token of confidence whenever I am thrown challenges with my newer one, cause I know that if I could brake in that useful, little glove, I could do the same for this one.