“You’ll do fine, I’m sure of it.” My mom told me as we were getting ready to go.  Today was going to be a big day for me.  I was going to try out for the ROSL baseball league.  I ran upstairs and grabbed my brown and black Wilson mitt.  The leather was flexible and soft, yet had a feeling of durability and toughness to it.  I had this mitt ever since I was 7.  I was 9 now, and ready for baseball.
We got into the beige Buick and started to drive to Memorial park, where the tryouts were.  While we drove, I felt a bit uneasy in my stomach.  I felt this way because this was my first year trying out for baseball.  I have loved baseball ever since I was old enough to pick up a mitt.  I would always play catch and small baseball games with my friends.  Whenever the Tigers played, I always cheered them on.  However, this was my first year in a real baseball league.  Well, I did one year of control pitch, but that is about one notch above T-Ball.  The league I was joining now was going to be completely different.  In this league, the players pitched instead of the coaches.  I was also going to be facing kids much taller and bigger than me.  This made me feel nervous and I started to second guess myself for fear that the bigger kids were going to dominate me.
As we pulled into the field, I took a look at some of the other kids trying out as well.  I stuck out like a sore thumb.  All of the other kids were wearing baseball jerseys, pants, and cleats.  I had made the unfortunate decision of wearing a T-shirt and basketball shorts.  It was clear that these kids had been playing baseball for a long time.  This didn’t help the nervousness and anxiety building up inside of me.
To try to lift the anxiety from me, my mom said: “Don’t be nervous, this is a lot of people’s first time in a baseball league as well.”
“Yeah, I know.” I sighed as my mom urged me to walk towards the field.  I had noticed I had barley taken three steps out of the car since we arrived.  She had been the one to convince me to join this league in the first place.  A typical summer day for me was playing video games all day and rarely coming out of my room.  “You’ll be able to make new friends now.” She had said to me many times.  As we walked to the baseball diamond, I could smell the freshly cut grass and the red dirt.  If baseball had a smell, it would be permeating from this field.
When we arrived at the diamond, the coaches lined us up and gave each of us a number.  My number was 13, not a great number to be given on this day.  “You guys will be doing some drills.  Once you all finish, the coaches will pick what player goes to what team.” The head coach exclaimed to us.  The first drill we did was a catching pop fly drill.  I did pretty well at this drill.  My stepdad had taught me how to properly catch a pop up.  “Put your mitt over your face and get under the ball.” I could hear his voice in my head.  The next drill we did was a running drill.  I didn’t do too hot at this one.  My short, stubby legs just couldn’t keep up with all of the taller kids.  Some of these kids were just shy of six feet, while I wasn’t even able to break five.
After that, we did a batting drill.  I did ok at this one.  I was able to make contact with the ball, but I couldn’t hit it very far, only to about second base.  This was largely due to my noodle like arms.  After about two hours of these tedious drills, the coaches lined us up again.  It was decision time.  The coaches would pick what player goes to what team.  “You’ll be picked dead last.” I thought to myself.  Surely they wouldn’t pick the four foot eleven kid with about as much muscle as a Chihuahua.  Then, over the PA, a crackly voice said: “Number 13, Billings Lawn Equipment.”
I jumped in excitement!  I had gotten picked first!  I walked with pride as I went to pick up my jersey.  “First draft, wow!  I knew you could do it!” my mom said in excitement as we walked back to the car.  As we drove home, the feeling of uncertainty was lifted.  No longer did I feel the bigger kids were going to dominate me.  I was going to be able to hold my own in this new baseball league.