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Batting 1.000

Pregame prep…

Keep in contact with a girl over the summer. The one that you've had a when-not-if thing going for the last month of the school year. You've been at camp for all but five days of the summer, leaving one last fling at home — for old times' sake — before you go off to college. Arrange to take her to a ballgame on Day No. 2.

In the on deck circle…

Fret and worry and keep yourself up the night (and week) before. Take the subway to the stadium. Find yourself reading and re-reading the same five ads to occupy your mind. Note that Dr. Zizmor can rot in hell. With four stops to go as the jitters manage to overcome all attempts to chill out. Anticipate the stop, but jerk up when it arrives even still.

Step up to the plate…

Sweat out the six blocks to the stadium, finally managing to maintain cool somewhere around the parking lot. Enter suave mode. Slow down your gait. Throw the shoulders back and keep the chin up. Put a little bounce in your step. Look ahead with a hard stare that can easily drop into a wink and a half-smile. Take a little Fresh Prince kickstep and proceed.

The windup…

As you approach your gate (B, section 223, seats 2 and 4), spot her as you pass the last row of cars. She's about ten feet to the right of a souvenir stand, facing away from you. She's wearing a black halter and cream capris on this balmy end-of-summer eve. Give her a mental thumbs up.

And the pitch…

She's still facing away as you approach, half-searching, half-expectant. Slide your hands around her midsection, down her arms, and clasp her hands in yours. She turns in defensive shock: there's a twist and slight pull away; her face is ready to reproach. Smile easy during the frozen second.

Shock fades into recognition; her eyes brighten and a smile beams from her lips. She starts to call your name. Raise a finger to your lips as she relaxes into your arms. "Sssshhh…" is the final utterance before heads move in, and you consummate soft kiss under the harsh neon lights.

Down the line…

After forever and the rest, pull away under the heat of an intense glare. Look up past her face, pale in the moonlight, eyes still closed from lingering makeout residue. Her brother is standing 20 feet away. Your best friend of the past seven months. He had dropped her off and turned to say goodbye as he walked back to the car. Nothing intelligible had come out.

Diving Attempt…

He's standing there, face twisted and caught up somewhere between betrayal and disappointment, even though he's seen this coming for some time now. Meet his eyes with a blank stare that fails to express the half-guilty/half-whatevers running through your head. He sighs, shoulders slumped, and turns away to hide the sad eyes in a face you've never seen so long. He feebly kicks the ground as he shuffles away, and then he's gone.

Off the Glove! Fair ball!

Be drawn back from the depths when she says your name for the third time. She gives a slight tug on your shirt and asks, "What's wrong?" as she tries to pick out what you're staring at.

Flatly say, "Nothing…", and refocus on the gorgeous girl in front of you. Her eyes are wary and cautious. Reassure her.

"'Twas nothing. Nothing at all…"

Look deep into her eyes and drop that oh-so-disarming half-smile. Shift to her side and drop an arm to her waist.

"Now where can I get a program?"

Official Scoring: Single and an Error, man in scoring position