Bottom of the ninth inning. Two outs. Full count. Score tied. Runner on third base.
I stepped up to the plate, planting my cleats into the clay. Getting into my batting stance, I faced the pitcher — glaring at his eyes as I loosely gripped the wooden bat and anticipated the pitch. Would it be a fastball, careening down the middle, or would it be a curveball, spinning toward home plate? Whatever type of pitch, I needed to be ready for anything.
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Source: Recruiter
