Christopher C Lang
Professor Adam Penna
ENG101 Freshman Composition
13 April 2014
Ninth Inning Treason Flashing back to the incomplete collage of photographic memories I have resting in my mind, one that has always remained a part of my history that I’ll pass down to my children someday, is my first professional baseball game. I’m a bleeding heart New York Yankee fan, but didn’t really know how tight my loyalties would become at the age of 8. I was at a New York Mets game with my father, and they took on the Pittsburgh Pirates at the late Shea Stadium in Queens, NY. I even caught my first foul ball there, ate my first ballpark hotdog, and caught my first glimpse of the purity of a game that I played around my block, and on the field with my little league team and friends. It was a game that seemed immortal, a game that every young kid looks for a role model, and wishes he could have such an opportunity to become a star athlete. It’s a dream that we could be handsomely compensated for a game that has an essence of goodness and passion, innocence and integrity. I wasn’t much at this time, just a kid, and a kid that would eventually be proven wrong beyond his wildest dreams. Fast forwarding to present day, being a baseball fan today has a different feeling of ambiguity surrounded with unpredictable circumstances. For every player that seems to exemplify the portrait of a role model to children who worship them, there’s always another who doesn’t receive a glance when they come up to the plate, or make a magnificent play in the field. That player isn’t making as much money, isn’t driving as fancy of a car, and isn’t signing as many baseballs before the game as fans shout towards them in euphoria and gratitude. Then something strange happens to those star players who can do no wrong; they cheated. No – It can’t be! It’s almost like going into the same state of