It's one-hundred five degrees on the turf at game time. With the hot July sun bearing down and all eyes on me, I deliver the first pitch in the bottom of the first inning. It's a ninety-eight-mph fastball for a strike. Cardinal fans boo loudly from all directions as I play with the rosin bag in my left hand. A smirk graces my face as I realize Madison both cheers for me and groans for her team. I mentally chide myself. Not at work. I must not let thoughts of Madison affect my work. With my head back in the game and a strike under my belt the oppressive heat melts away and I find my rhythm.
During the top of the third inning I mentally prepare myself to face the bottom of the St. Louis line-up as well as hit this inning. As I stand at the edge of the dugout I pray Stan gets on, so I can b
