I stepped into the familiar lines of a batter box. I dug in, pulled my bat back, and eyes the pitcher. It was foggy and hard to see. That's the problem with living on the coast of Northern California. There's something called the marine layer and it made it cloudy almost every morning. I squinted at the pitcher, trying to find him in the mess of white.
The pitch came from nowhere and I was unable to react in time.
"Strike one!" This umpire was extra loud.
I squinted at the direction of the mound, but still couldn't find the pitcher. Another fastball came in and my hands couldn't move my bat fast enough. I whiffed. "Strike two!" I completely, and utterly, missed the ball. I stared in disbelief at my bat.
"Hard to imagine you having a perfect batting average when you can't even keep your eye on the ball." Someone said. I looked around trying to find the source to argue that I didn't have a perfect average. I already hit a fly ball!
