NOTE: Please disregard all my grammar mistakes, I’m sure I made a lot
Some people say that the close friends you have in high school will be your friends for the rest of your life. I could not agree more with that statement. I grew up playing baseball with three of my closest friends and continued to play baseball with them throughout high school. All of us with very different personalities but we all got along none the less. We were all members of the varsity baseball team, one would think that once we step onto the field that we become different people and nothing else matters other than baseball. That as a matter of fact this was not the case, at least in pregame warm-ups.
The clock strikes 2:05, the school bell rings at that annoying pitch that nobody can bear listening to. It’s a race to the parking lot; it’s almost as if we’re all NASCAR drivers. The faster walkers like me weave in and out of the slower walkers. Sometimes you get caught behind the couple that hasn’t seen each other in two class periods but act like it’s been two years. They stop in the middle of the mob of people and everyone must now go around them, it’s almost as if they are Moses and they are parting the Red Sea. As I reach the doors that lead to the parking lot I exhale and am relieved that the school day is finally complete. The next task on my agenda though was to get ready for the baseball game.
As I’m journeying through the parking lot making my way to my car, I scope out one of my friends and co-captains Forrest. He’s a self-proclaimed “ladies man” thinks he can get any girl that he wants, but all of us know that’s anything but the truth. I notice him lurking on his next “prey.” I lean up against my car curious, thinking there is no way he can possibly get turned down again. I’m too far away to actually hear what they’re saying to each-other. It’s almost as if I’m watching a silent movie, hand gestures are being used, so I am imagining in my head what is being said. All of the sudden I see the girls hand cock back and bang. She slapped him right on the side of the face. Forrest rubs his face, which we baseball players see as a sign of weakness, as we are told never to rub the area if we get hit. He gives the girl a head nod as if to sarcastically say, “Thank you.” The Forrest walks over to my car in disgrace; I dog on him a little, just a few jokes to lighten the mood. We continue to joke with each other all the way to the locker room, and then proceed to get suited up for the game, and then make our way out to the field.
Once we finish our long trek out to the baseball field, I meet up with one of my other co-captains and the ace of our pitching staff Matt. He’s one of those kids that if you tell him to do something, no doubt he’ll do it. This doesn’t always benefit Matt, but he doesn’t care, as long as it gives his friends some laughs that’s all the incentive he needs. Some people even think that he’s a little crazy. Matt has a strict pregame ritual, that still to this day he believes it gave us good luck. He would eat two packs of warheads (30 candies). For those who don’t know what warheads are, they are extremely sour hard candies, to sour for me to eat. While everyone is arriving to the field he can be found in the corner of the dugout almost in the fetal position munching on these candies. The whole structure of his face seems to change when he eats these. Both cheeks invert, and make it look like he has two enormous dimples. His lips pucker up as much as physically possible, they seem to shrivel to the size of a nickel. Squints his eyes until you can’t decipher whether or not they’re open. When I walk by him it takes everything in my power to not laugh right in his face, more often than not I laugh in his face regardless. This is not the end of his ridiculous pregame rituals. Once he’s finished eating his mouth deteriorating candy, he puts his headphones in and plays his infamous Aerosmith-Beyoncé playlist. It’s so loud that the whole team can hear it word for word while we’re doing our outfield stretches. Every once in a while he’ll burst out singing, whether it’s Dream On or Halo, he does not care. Sometimes I sing along with him to lighten the mood, plus he’s one of my best friends, I can’t have him be the only one getting embarrassed.
My final co-captain is Max, also known as the most competitive person you’ll ever meet in your entire life. Almost every aspect of pregame warm ups is a competition to this kid. Whether it’s finishing our warm-up lap first by sprinting as fast as he can across home plate or swinging the hardest during batting practice. Basically coming out of his shoes while swinging. My personal favorite is when him and I throw the baseball to warm up our arms. We tend to start off easy, lightly tossing the baseball to each other. Then it progressively gets harder and harder. It gets to the point where max and I are throwing the ball at each other as hard as we physically can. I grunt because I am exuberating as much energy as I have just to throw the ball harder than he is. Finally I throw the ball high in the air indicating that I’m all set. We both jog to the dugout exchanging laughs assuming that we looked very foolish warming up.
I find it crazy that I know these are the kids I will be friends will the rest of my life, they will always be there for me if and when I ever need them. In return, I’ll be there if they ever need me. We have our own personalities and I believe that’s what makes us friends. If we were all the same person it would be fun to hang out with them, it would be like hanging out with yourself. In the end, we’re all characters in the cartoon that is life.