He came home from school that day, with another mediocre grade of his usual B-. Of course, he tried to figure his miscalculations out himself in his cubicle next to his bedroom. He began sorting through his haphazard stack of papers in order to find some informative papers on the subject. His “Eureka” experience of the day was then satisfied. He then initiated his homework on subjects of a wide variety: math, English, French, chemistry, history, economics, and engineering. For every assignment there was always that one question that he never understood. Every minute for the rest of the day until sleep, his mind was constantly toiled trying to crack the problems. He would become frustrated because there was no one to help him. His mother and father never bore another child, and yet they were still never home. When they arrived, his parents would help him the best he could, but he knew they did not quite understand these questions. There would be a quiz the next day and he would be confused.

The next day at school he received his usual of a B- along with a painful migraine. Unlike the previous 7 years of unfortunate puzzlement and grief, today he was cheerful and sang to the click-clack of his before black loafers, now a shiny red from a recent clean. “? Life’s not so bad after all ?”. Upon arrival he began his homework again. Flipping his hair out of the way, finished his chemistry worksheet with no problem at all. He continued to the other six subjects, and breezed right though them. The stack of papers to his right suddenly became small on his large, carved maple wood desk. He began to be entranced by the wooden desk. The swirls of the aged tree were like snakes on the home-made pottery atop the patio deck. The illusion was subtle and crept up slowly. How good it felt to see the wood, the vivid maroon color, and the life-lines that gave the wood character. The feel of the wood was so smooth, professionally carved and shaped from some of the finest machines in China. He had seen many of the great people in the world use wood. Of course, even the simplest of minds wonder how successful they became, using the same material as the dirt-poor. Grand achievements had been accomplished with wood. He could name so many, “amazing writers started out with the wooden pencil, professional artists would show off their finale with a wooden frame, and great baseball players used wooden bats, and…” He trailed off into sleep and awoke with his head flipped backwards along with his hair pulled down by gravity. When he opened his eyes, they did not just open, but the muscle exerted so much force in his eyelid that you could nearly see the edge of his eye. He had heard about his school baseball team, and heard about all the famous players in the news (along with their salaries of course). His caregivers gave him an allowance each week for cleaning his room and getting consistent mediocre grades. This gave him ambition.

The day preceding his grand realization, Cal read through the entire Sports section of the Baltimore Sun. After the read, he noticed an advertisement for a baseball camp not too far away from his home. He would need to use the public busing, which he had been used to because the private school he attended (in debt) was not local. Cal then went to go attend the camp. The camp was hosted by an Orioles short-stop named “Chico” Fernández. The camp had a hotel on the east side, with windows on the west side of the building. There were many fields named after different teams, the most unique being the Yankees stadium made completely of Astro Turf. Cal thought the field should be for the Texas team, The Astros. The hotel room where Cal stayed at was built with orange brick with an unfinished gray paint job. He managed to find his way to the Concierge and receive a room.

The next day was quite a surprise to Cal. He received a uniform, used cleats, a new hat, and temporary baseball equipment. The coaches all had different personalities but were all the same. Cal pushed the hair out of his eyes and murmured to himself that “most of them are obese from lack of exercise, angry from lack of love, and stupid from lack of schooling”. The drilling began and kids would talk about how inexperienced and terrible he was. He let the insults roll off his back as if he was wearing his favorite blue raincoat. The coaches would pull him aside at times to tell him to try something new. This often ended up in tears and half-hearted apologies from the coaches who really did not know what was going on. The crying, drills, and constant stream of food made Cal extremely tired and unimaginably regretful. “Why would someone ever try this?” he would ask himself every now and again. The morning of the games was announced to be on Wednesday. The teams had been set up by the head of the camp, Mr. Fernández himself. The morning of the games, Cal’s left eye began to twitch constantly. The muscle in his upper eyelid would jerk once or twice in a split second. The first game Cal followed the instructions of his coach. He ran home on a passed ball after walking on five pitches and was tagged out. He began to cry, but with many kids to tend to, Cal received very little attention. The next game Cal hit a single to left on a pitch that was called a strike immediately before. In his third and last game the only notable thing Cal accomplished was repeatedly hitting foul balls until going for a ball above his hands.

This finalized the camp except for a half day of relaxation and introductions. On the solitary turf field the coaches set up a slip-n-slide for the kids. Afterwards, the players had the opportunity to ask Mr. Fernández questions. He answered all sorts of questions ranging from the best angle to swing at to his favorite midnight snack. Cal then returned home from the camp to his mother and father. At this point both of them were home and intrigued by the activities that preceded the conversation. He told them all about the majestic techniques and strategic game plans he learned. They asked him what the most important thing he learned was. He figured that only the head, the actual major-leaguer, would have the best things to say. At the end of the question session, Fernández got the last word with:
“The best question someone ever asked me was if I was superior to everyone in little league. I told them that ‘I was nothing short of average. I just kept playing. That’s what made me better.’”(-Cal Ripken)