Hi, my name is Cameron, and I want to be a pitcher. I hope it’s not too late.
When I was a child, I met Charlie Manuel, who was at that point working with the Cleveland Indians organization. I had a question to ask him, and since I was shy, my Dad asked it for me: “How do you hit a baseball going ninety-five miles an hour?” His answer? “It’s easier than you think.” Throughout the enitire rest of my life, that answer has stuck with me as I learned new things. I taught myself how to restore automobiles, program synthesizers, and play guitar. How? I’t’s easier than you think.
My music and my automobiles kept me occupied growing up the way baseball has sustained many others. As a kid, I didn’t fit in with a lot of people, and getting involved in sports - any sport - meant certain humiliation and further alienation from my peers. The final straw, the player’s strike, ended my love for the game, at least for a long time. As a kid, I just couldn’t understand why you needed even more money to play the greatest game in the world. I walked away from baseball, and it would be many years before I came back.
A few years ago, I encounted some changes in my life. I had broken up with my girlfriend of four years, because she was two-timing me. She had driven a wedge between me and my family, in an effort to keep me close. At times it felt like I had nowhere to turn. Shorthly after, my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and I feared that I had precious little time to reconnect with him. I spent time with him the only way I knew how: watching baseball with him. I watched the games intently, picking up everything I could, trying desperately to learn what I had forgotten years ago. I was under a lot of stress, and I discovered a new way to relax: I’d go behind my garage and throw strikes at an old oil drum. A Rawlings glove, a bucket of balls, and that oil drum got me through that summer in one piece. It was that summer that I rediscoved my love of our national pastime, reconnected with my family, and I even got myself a new hot rod - an Oldsmobile Cutlass. It was the greatest summer of my life.
That winter, my father had a surgery that saved his life, and he’s now 100% cancer free. But we still watched baseball, talked baseball, and played catch, just to hang out with each other the way fathers and sons should. As the last of five children, and the only boy, I always regretted not going out for sports. My parents never pushed me or made me feel bad, but I still feel guilty for not giving my father a chance to impress him on the baseball field. But it’s never too late - remember, “it’s easier than you think.”
I’m a lot different than I was growing up, but I’m still young - I’m 22 now. I’m roughly six feet tall, with a slim, athletic build, and enough drive and motivation to pull a trailer to the Moon. I’ve gotten myself a good job, with good pay and a good schedule so that I can better myself and follow my dreams. I’ve gotten a trainer and am looking for a pitching coach. This may be the hardest task I have ever undertaken, and I can’t do it alone. I hope that, with your help, I can make something of myself on the field.
My name’s Cameron, and I want to be a picher. I hear it’s easier than you think.