Featured Student Essay: “My Odyssey: The Journey of a Ballplayer” by Miguel Peña

The following essay was written by NCF student Miguel Peña, and submitted to be featured here by his professor David Mikics

My Odyssey: The Journey of a Ballplayer

Temptation

I come from Santo Domingo, the heart of the Dominican Republic, where baseball is not just a sport, it is a way out. My journey began when I was thirteen years old, the moment I decided that I was going to be a baseball player. From that age, I was confident, maybe even cocky. Everywhere I went, I was one of the best. I thought nothing could stop me. At the baseball academy where I trained, life was pure sacrifice. We woke up every morning at 5:30 a.m. to run. Then came hours of fielding, hitting, throwing, and conditioning. In the afternoons, we hit the gym until dark every day, every week, for months. Breakfast was always five whole eggs, plantains, yuca, and sweet potatoes. We did not have much variety, but we were feeding a dream.

My room at the academy was a mess, the kind of mess that only comes from too many boys chasing one dream in the same space. I slept with rats crawling in the roof above me and wasps nesting in the corners. If you tried to sleep on the couch, centipedes crawled out from underneath. Still, none of that mattered. The dream was bigger than the discomfort. My only break came in the afternoons when I walked to a mango field nearby. I would climb the trees, sit there looking over the neighborhood, and eat four mangos like a king who owned the world. For those few minutes, everything was quiet, and I could breathe again.

The academy was pure competition. It was not just baseball, it was survival. Some players did not eat until evening. Some had not seen their families in months. Still, they smiled and played with joy. That kind of hunger, literal and emotional, changed how I saw life forever.

In Homer’s Odyssey, temptation appears when Odysseus faces the Sirens. Their voices promise peace, but their goal is destruction. The Sirens say, “No one ever sailed past us without staying to hear the honeyed sound of our song” (Homer 12.186–187). For Odysseus, it was temptation by sound. For me, it was temptation by despair. January 15, 2021, was supposed to be my day of glory. I woke up, walked outside, and grabbed the newspaper. There it was, the list of all the players who had signed MLB contracts. I sat down on the steps and read every name. So many were players I had competed against daily. My name was not there. I felt like my whole world collapsed. I cried for hours, remembering every morning run, every sacrifice, every time I said “no” to normal life because of baseball.

Odysseus tied himself to the mast so he could hear the Sirens’ song without losing control. I had to do the same in spirit. I had to tie myself to my dream. Kevin Curtin writes in “The Natural: Our Iliad and Odyssey” that Roy Hobbs’ story represents “the modern Odysseus, seduced by glory and punished by it” (Curtin 214). Like Hobbs, I was talented but distracted by pride. My young self wanted to prove I was the best, not just to play the game with love. After failing to sign, I realized that my fight was not against others but against myself. Temptation was not about fame or comfort. It was about giving up. But I did not.

A few months later, a college scout saw me play. In that game, I hit a home run to dead center, a flawless swing that felt like destiny returning. After the game, he said, “Miguel, we are happy to welcome you to Iowa.” I was not going to the MLB yet, but I was still on the journey. I had survived temptation, tied to the mast of perseverance.

Storms and Monsters

Arriving in Iowa felt like landing on another planet. The cold cut through my bones. I had never experienced negative temperatures in my life. My first morning of practice, my hands froze. I could see my breath in the air, and my first thought was, How am I supposed to play in this?

The people were different, the food was strange, and the silence of winter felt heavy. Nobody spoke Spanish, and my English was terrible. My coaches would talk to me, and all I knew to say was “yes.” I called everyone “bro” just to survive conversations. I lived in a tiny dorm with no closet, just a twin bed and a small desk. I came from a big house in Santo Domingo, so that room felt like a box. It humbled me.

My tutor Molly became my guide, my Athena. She checked on me every day, helped me with essays, and even invited me to her office just to talk. We sat there for hours, sometimes about baseball, sometimes about life. She helped me find my voice in another language and reminded me that I was more than my sport.

Baseball, though, was still a battle. My coach did not like me. He benched me for twenty games and treated me harshly. I felt the hate, but I stayed silent and kept working. Then one cold day, he finally gave me a chance to play. That day, I hit two home runs to dead center, both around 415 feet. I looked at him without smiling. That was my storm.

Rick Newton writes in “Poor Polyphemus: Emotional Ambivalence in Odyssey 9 and 17” that Homer makes the audience admire Odysseus’ cleverness but question his arrogance. “Admiration for the hero’s metis is clouded by his folly and arrogance” (Newton 138). Like Odysseus, I won my battle but carried pride afterward.

By the end of that freshman season, I was the second-best hitter on the team even though I played half the games. That was my redemption. Sophomore year came, and I became team captain. I led by example, represented the team in meetings, and earned everyone’s respect. I was having one of the best offensive seasons in school history until I slid into second base and felt a pull in my knee. I ignored it. I could not play without ibuprofen. I took five pills before every game just to survive nine innings. My stats dropped. Scouts noticed. All the scholarship offers disappeared. That was my second fall.

Newton argues that Odysseus’ mistakes make him more human. When Odysseus blinds Polyphemus, we admire his cleverness, but his taunting shows his flaws. I saw the same in myself. My storms were my mistakes, and my monsters were my doubts.

After Iowa, I cried in the locker room eating ice cream from the tub, trying to hide my pain. But my journey was not over. New College of Florida gave me a chance to start again.

When I arrived in Florida, it felt like a blessing. The sun, the warmth, the palm trees—it all reminded me of home. The coaches believed in me right away. They said they saw potential and loved my work ethic. I started to feel alive again. Then three months later, during a scrimmage, I took a normal swing and felt my hand break instantly. I had already hit two home runs that day. My shoulder tore too. My season was over.

It was devastating, but I refused to disappear. I put on my uniform every game, even with my cast on, and sat on the bench to support my team. I cheered, gave advice, and brought energy every day. Watching them need me and not being able to play was torture, but I stayed because I knew that leadership is about presence, not performance.

Roy Hobbs in The Natural learns the same truth. He faces injury and shame but returns to play for love of the game, not fame. My storms made me understand that same kind of love.

Home

Looking back now, I realize that every hardship built me into who I am. The cold nights, the rats in the ceiling, the pain in my knee, the broken bones, all of that taught me resilience.

Learning English changed me. I went from being afraid to speak to holding conversations confidently. I still remember the first time I made a joke in English and my teammates laughed. It felt like victory.

John A. Scott in “The Journey Made by Telemachus and Its Influence on the Action of the Odyssey” explains that distance helps growth. “Telemachus returns home a wise, self-reliant, and courageous man” (Scott 427). That line defines my own return. My journey away from home transformed me. Santo Domingo taught me hunger, Iowa taught me humility, and Florida taught me balance.

My life became bigger than baseball. I learned to appreciate quiet mornings, laughter after practice, and even losses because they remind me that I am still fighting. My Ithaka, like Odysseus’, was not just a place. It was a peace of mind.

When Odysseus finally returns home, he disguises himself, unrecognized even by Penelope. His victory is not about strength but wisdom. In that, I see myself. After injuries and failures, I found peace not through a contract or fame but through patience and faith.

If a young player in the Dominican Republic came up to me today and asked for advice, I would tell him this: never stop fighting. Appreciate the small things. Play every day like it is your last. Do not let anyone define your limits, not coaches, not scouts, not injuries. Odysseus told his heart, “Bear up, old heart. You have endured worse than this” (Homer 20.18). Those words live in me.

Now, I study quantitative economics, chase knowledge with the same passion I once chased fastballs, and see baseball not only as a dream but as a teacher.

Epilogue: A Letter to the Game

Baseball, you have been my greatest teacher. Every bruise, every scar, every long morning run was a lesson. From chasing fly balls under the sun in Santo Domingo, to freezing mornings in Iowa, to recovering from injuries in Florida, I have seen your face in every form. You took a lot from birthdays, time with family, comfort—but you gave me more. You gave me discipline, courage, and belief.

You taught me to face fear and pressure and to stay calm when nothing works. You showed me that success is not about trophies or stats but about who you become in the process. You made me resilient, you made me patient, and you made me grateful.

Like Odysseus, I have fought storms and found peace in the return. Like Telemachus, I have grown through distance. And like Roy Hobbs, I still stand in the light, knowing that the real victory is simply getting to play.

When I step on the field, I whisper a prayer: thank you for another day. My Odyssey is not over, but I have found my Ithaka.

Works Cited

Curtin, Kevin Thomas. “The Natural: Our Iliad and Odyssey.” The Antioch Review, vol. 43, no. 2, 1985, pp. 212–224.

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Robert Fagles, Penguin Classics, 1996.

Newton, Rick M. “Poor Polyphemus: Emotional Ambivalence in Odyssey 9 and 17.” The Classical World, vol. 76, no. 3, 1983, pp. 137–142.

Scott, John A. “The Journey Made by Telemachus and Its Influence on the Action of the Odyssey.” The Classical Journal, vol. 13, no. 6, 1918, pp. 420–428.

The Natural. Directed by Barry Levinson, performances by Robert Redford and Glenn Close, TriStar Pictures, 1984.