Two fingers werestraight as arrows between the fortress of his thighs. Curve ball - good call. Mymetal cleats sunk into the soft clay of the mound as my body froze. Spinning theball inside the cave of my hand, I felt the crimson scams. My fingers found theirhome; side by side they sat on the rim of the horseshoe. My head swiveled to therunner cautiously leading from first. Nodding, I forced him to lean back, then inone fluid motion my leg kicked, the ball and glove separated and my body lungedfor home. With the snap of my wrist, the ball was set free.
Silenceovertook the crowd and the hum of the seams cutting through the hot spring airwas all that could be heard. No, I thought as the ball left my hand. I want thatback. As the ball arched, I watched the batter's eyes widen and the bat begin itsfateful swing. With a crack, the ball soared and my heart fell from my chest tothe hard ground. My world went gray, and the ringing in my ears silenced theworld around me. Our season was over. It was my final pitch.
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