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THE PRESS BOX | TPB FALL TOURNAMENT
The Taste Of A Dream
The agony and ecstasy of pursuing a passion
Prompt: Write a memoir-style (first-person) entry for a baseball player (fictitious or real) who’s struggling at the pro level and feels like they might be demoted back to the minors after just making it up to the majors for the first time.
Before today, I couldn’t have told you what dreams tasted like. I could have told you what they smelled like. They smell of freshly mowed grass, sweat, oiled leather, dirt, stale beer, pine tar, and chewing tobacco. They sound like the crack of a wooden bat hitting a tightly-wound ball of string and leather, and the corresponding roar of the crowd as they cheer you round the horn.
They feel like the sun on your face, spongey turf beneath your feet, and a brand-new uniform hugging you loosely. Of course, I’d always known what they would look like because I’d seen them every night in my dreams since I was seven. But until tonight, I never knew what they tasted like.
They smell of freshly mowed grass, sweat, oiled leather, dirt, stale beer, pine tar, and chewing tobacco.
When I got here, I didn’t really know what to expect. I mean, how could I? It’s…
