Area baseball diamonds will soon be filled with kids striving for success.

Some will get there, while others, despite admirable efforts, will fall short.

I can identify with players at every level of success in youth baseball.

In my seven years of playing little league and pony baseball, I was the kid who had the game-winning hit and made the diving catch in the outfield to end a close game.

At other times, I was the player who struggled to get off the bench. I can remember being on deck with runners on and two outs, silently hoping that my teammate at the plate would make the last out and save me from failing in front of my parents, coaches and friends.

There was a standard on the baseball diamond that I wanted to match, but never did.

My cousin, Michael, was seven years older than me and excelled at every level of the sport through high school. Some of my earliest memories are of going to his little league or pony games and watching him leave the field a star.

When I decided to play organized ball in the second grade, I couldn’t wait to tell Mike. After all, I was going to be just as good as he was, or so I thought.

This was the spring of 1986 and at that time, the Connellsville Little League was divided into three levels — instructional, minor and major.

Not surprisingly, I was placed on the instructional team that first year and I soon found my niche at catcher. I was short, chubby and not close to being fast. I was an 8-year old version of Mike LaValliere.

After sitting on the bench in the minors in 1987, I became a solid player for Joe’s Market in 1988. Our uniforms were canary yellow and white and didn’t exactly strike fear into our opponents, but we had a good team. We ended up losing in the best-of-3 title series.

The following spring, my fourth year of playing, I tried out for the major team, the Tri-Town Lions. After three or four practices, I got a call from Tri-Town’s coach and he gave me the verbal pink slip. At first, I was disappointed, but soon turned my focus toward helping Joe’s Market get back to the title series, which we did. This time, we won.

My fondest memories of playing baseball come from those two summers, 1988-89. I loved going to practice, except for the laps we had to run. My main objective was to not be the last kid to finish and I was usually able to avoid that.

Unfortunately, my one season in the majors and two in pony league were not enjoyable. I had trouble hitting the improved pitching, my confidence dropped and never did improve.

Ironically, my last hit came in the summer of 1992 when I missed a sacrifice bunt sign, swung away and singled to left field. It was my only hit that season.

It was time for me to exit, stage left.

Every ballplayer giving it his or her all deserves to have a moment in the sun. Here’s hoping it happens this season for a bunch of area youngsters!

Derek Pyda is a staff writer for the Butler Eagle.