Running Home

It was the bottom of the eighth inning on a perfect night for baseball. It was a close game tied at two runs with two outs. My teammate Julio was on first base and I was on second ready to run. Our best hitter was at the plate and I just knew he could get us a hit to take the lead. Our best shot to win was now, and I needed to make it around third as soon as I hear the bat connect. My heart was racing in anticipation, I wanted badly to score the winning run. The count reached one strike, two balls, and after a few foul balls, he hit a short line drive toward right field. The right fielder had a strong arm, so I knew there was a chance he could throw me out at home but I ran as hard as I could ignoring the third base coach who was telling me to stop. I was sure I was going to beat the ball to home plate. I was so sure I could taste it, but I soon realized I was wrong. I was only two strides away when the ball reached home plate, and when the catcher blocked the plate, a collision was inevitable. Our knees crashed in the process and I as I was laying on the ground, blinded by pain all I managed to say was “did I score the run?”, hoping the catcher dropped the ball in the crash. It Turns out he did drop it, and I had scored the winning run. But it was the last night I would play baseball.
Baseball was the potent center of my life growing up. Maybe the countless hours I spent watching baseball with my father accounted for my passion. Or maybe it was the days I spent playing in the concrete fields of my old elementary school in New York City, and later, the real dirt fields in the park. I can’t quite pinpoint where the obsession started but it became a part of me like any other limb on my body. Baseball was my drug and I was addicted, so naturally it became my one and only desire in life to play professional baseball. I spent so much time on the field playing and trying to better my skills that I would often have to be dragged out of the park by my mother. However, my parents were very supportive and understood my passion so they didn’t mind me playing at the park all day as long as I did my school work and made it home for dinner, which was a huge deal in my house. Growing up in a traditional Dominican family meant there were two religions in my house, food and baseball, and when the two came together, there was nothing better in this world. There were few moments in my house where watching the Yankees stomp on other teams didn’t come accompanied by an amazing home cooked feast of rice, beans, tostones(fried plantains), perfectly seasoned meat and a side of avocado. Not to mention the many other variety of meals that my parents would serve on a given day, like eggplant lasagna or sancocho, which is a traditional Dominican soup made with beef, chicken, pork, plantains, yucca, plenty of vegetables, and Dominican seasoning. My parents are both really good cooks and my father started a few restaurants along the way so when I wasn’t out on the field, I was in a kitchen learning how to cook and run a kitchen.
I found myself combining food and watching baseball a lot after the injury. I had torn my ACL that night and had to have reconstructive surgery. It took me about six months to recover, and that entire time I was hopeful about returning to the baseball field even though the doctors were telling me I might not be able to run in full motion again. Physical therapy helped return most of the motion in my knee, but I was never able to run again without pain. This meant baseball was no longer an option.
It took me a long time to come to terms with the reality of my situation. I was sixteen years old, and I could no longer play the sport that I felt I was born to play. It felt like taking the air from my lungs. I couldn’t enjoy life the way I wanted to anymore, and I started living dangerously. I got involved with the wrong crowd, and started getting violent. I was getting involved in a lot of illegal activities, and trying to live above the law, not really caring about the world around me. I felt angry at myself, angry at the world. All I could ask was “why me?”. My self esteem reached an all time low and nothing anyone said was convincing enough to make me think I was going to be alright. All I kept hearing around me was “Its going to be ok”, and “life goes on”. At the time I felt as though there was nothing else I could do with my life, baseball was all I knew and all I wanted to know.
After high school I started to realize that I needed to finally start thinking about what I wanted to do with my life moving forward. I was working with my father at his restaurant at the time and I had always enjoyed being in that world. I soon started to take more interest in the restaurant industry and learn the business side of how it all operates. Soon after that I started managing the restaurant and decided that I wanted to be in the restaurant business. It seemed like the best option seeing as how I grew up in the environment and learned so much through out the years and I also enjoyed it. In addition, I wanted to continue my education, but at the time I still wasn’t quite over my baseball career ending before it started. A lot of the friends I grew up with were still playing baseball and some even got drafted and made it to the minor leagues. I felt like I was constantly being reminded of my misfortune so after a lot of research I decided to join the Air Force in order to get away from it all and try to refresh the world around me. It was also a good way to help me pay for college. I met a lot of interesting people along the way and had a lot of good experiences. After fours years of service, I got out and continued with my plan, I went back to school and decided to open my own restaurant.
Life is full of turns and obstacles blocking your path, but I learned that for every door that closes, a new one opens up. There is more to life than just one path and we shouldn’t give up every time were knocked down or pushed back. Even though I’ve moved on from playing the game that I love, I still think about the old days where even a concrete field was enough to start a ball game. I still think about all the times I ran out into that field and all the good memories that I shared with my teammates and friends out on that grass. Baseball will always be a huge part of my life but now I watch the games on TV with family and friends and good food, no longer thinking about what could have been but thinking how good it can be.