1st Base
It was a warm, sunny afternoon in Pallet Town, the kind of day when the sky seemed to stretch endlessly, dotted with soft, puffy clouds, and the sound of buzzing bees filled the air. Seven-year-old Ash Ketchum sat in his backyard, his brown eyes following the occasional pigeons fluttering past the nearby trees. He fidgeted on the wooden steps leading up to the house, bored and unsure of what to do. He wanted something more exciting, something that made his heart race.
Across the yard, he noticed his neighbor, Gary Oak, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it effortlessly with a glove that seemed far too big for his small hand. Gary, being his usual confident self, wasn't playing alone. A couple of the neighborhood kids had gathered around him, forming a circle as they passed the ball between them, laughing and calling out to one another.
Ash watched them for a few minutes, wondering what it would feel like to join in, to be part of the fun. He was usually more interested in Pokémon than sports, but there was something about the energy of the group, the way they moved, that pulled him in. It was different, It seemed...exciting.
"Ash!" his mom called from inside the house. "Do you want some lemonade?"
"Uh, no thanks, Mom!" Ash called back, his gaze still fixed on the game.
Gary, noticing Ash sitting alone, grinned and waved him over. "Hey, Ash! You wanna play?"
Ash hesitated for a moment, his legs swinging over the edge of the steps. He wasn't sure if he'd be good at baseball. What if he messed up? What if Gary and the other kids laughed at him? But something inside him, maybe a tiny spark of curiosity or the pull of adventure, pushed him to his feet.
"Sure!" Ash replied, walking over to the group.
Gary tossed him a spare glove. It was a little big, and Ash struggled to slip his fingers into the right spots, but once it was on, he flexed his hand, feeling the strange but exciting weight of it. The leather was worn, a little stiff, but it felt good. It felt like it had a story to tell, like it had seen a few games and was ready for more.
"Okay, we're playing catch first," Gary explained, tossing the ball to one of the other kids. "You stand over there, and when the ball comes to you, catch it."
"Seems easy enough," Ash thought, moving to his spot in the circle. The grass was soft under his shoes, and the sun was warm on his face. He squinted, trying to follow the ball as it arced between his friends, waiting for his turn.
When the ball came flying toward him, Ash panicked for a second. His heart pounded in his chest, and he raised his glove instinctively. The ball slapped into the leather with a satisfying thunk. His hand stung from the impact, but he didn't care. He had caught it!
Gary laughed, impressed. "Nice catch, Ash!"
Ash smiled, his chest swelling with pride. It felt good—really good. He tossed the ball back to Gary, a little off-target but close enough. The group continued to play, and as the game went on, Ash began to feel more confident. He wasn't as fast as some of the other kids, and he missed a few catches, but every time he managed to snag the ball, he felt a rush of excitement.
After a while, Gary suggested they switch things up and play a proper game. He grabbed a bat and stood at home plate, motioning for Ash to pitch.
"Come on, Ash! Let's see what you got!"
Ash's palms were sweaty as he gripped the baseball. He'd never pitched before, but he had watched a few games on TV with his mom. He mimicked the stance he'd seen the professional players use, his left leg bent slightly, his right arm pulled back. With a deep breath, he hurled the ball forward.
It wasn't perfect—it veered a little to the right—but Gary swung anyway, sending the ball flying high into the sky. The other kids chased after it, laughing and cheering as they ran across the yard. Ash watched the ball disappear into the distance, his heart thumping wildly. That hit...it had felt like something more than just a swing. It felt like a moment he wanted to be part of, over and over again.
For the rest of the afternoon, Ash and his friends played game after game, taking turns at bat, pitching, and fielding. Ash was hooked. He loved the feeling of the bat in his hands, the thrill of running toward home plate, the satisfaction of catching a fly ball. The way the game worked, with everyone playing a part, made it feel like more than just a sport. It was teamwork, but it was also about individual effort—about doing your best for the group.
By the time the sun began to set, casting a golden glow across the yard, Ash was exhausted, his clothes damp with sweat and his hands aching from catching so many balls. But he didn't care. He felt alive in a way he hadn't before. Baseball wasn't just fun—it was exciting.
As the other kids began to leave, Gary jogged over, patting Ash on the back. "You were pretty good for your first time, Ketchum. You should come play with us more often."
Ash grinned, feeling a surge of happiness. "Yeah, I think I will."
That night, after dinner, Ash lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He thought about the crack of the bat, the sting of the ball in his glove, the way his friends cheered when he made a good play. He thought about how the game made him feel, like he was part of something bigger, like he was capable of more than he had realized.
Maybe, just maybe, baseball was something he could be really good at.
