A warm Sunday afternoon in the middle of Staten Island. Dirt particles flying into my eyes, it stings. Spit everywhere, sunflower seeds litter the ground, it’s a baseball field. I snap back into reality when I realize I’m in the middle of a game. My hearts racing, sweat dripping, mouth as dry as the Sahara. The batter steps in, and I step onto the mound, taking the signs from my catcher. It’s 1-2 do I toss a curve or throw a fastball high and in? I have pitches to play with, but no I want to get out of this inning. The catcher flashes the signs for a fastball high and in, I nod, the batter braces for the pitch and I set. I check the runner on first, then third, and then kick high up, pushing off the mound simultaneously, I’m reaching back for everything I got and fire away. The baseball hisses as it cuts through the air, the pitch leaving my hand and in a blink of an eye WHOOSH! POP! I look up and the batter looks back at the ball in the catchers mitt, it’s all over, I go to the dug out, take a swig of my gatorade, and when it’s time I go back out to do it all over again.
