"Now batting, number twenty-eight, Bobby McCoy."

I wish we were home. I want my music. There are people at home cheering for me, but I can't hear them. Not yet.

We're behind in game three of a road series against the Seacrest Sea Lions, our last chance to get an away win before the final home stand. These Sea Pussies are the one team in the division standing in the way of a pennant for the Danville Dominoes. I know there are scouts from the bigs out there and this is my chance to show 'em all.

The score is 5 - 2, top of the ninth, two on and two away. The crowd is on their feet, but they're not stomping them for me. They want me to be the last man out.

Their closer, Shiro is on the mound. Hi, Shiro. I know what you throw. Fastball, fastball, change-up. But I'm not gonna' swing at the first thing you send me.

"STEEERRIKE!"

"What's the matter, McCoy?" Catcher calls to me. "Feeling a little particular tonight?"

"No, I'm not picky. I'd screw your wife and your sister, too."

"Ball."

Morales is on third, wiggling his fingers at me. Don't worry, buddy, I'll bring you home. You can buy me a steak at any night club you want, here in this seafood town.

Shiro throws to first. Fargo's trying to steal. Go ahead, Shiro. Wear your arm out. You wasted enough pitches walking Fargo. Here we go.

"Ball."

You're nervous. I guess the pressure's more on you than me. Fargo's ready to steal. Go for it, baby.

"STEEERRIKE!"

Okay, Fargo's on second, just where I want him. Morales is itching to come in. Okay, okay. I'll get you and Fargo home and maybe me too. Get your size twelve cleat poking this bag. There's a gap in right center just waiting for a line drive. Fielder's picking his nose or something.

"CRACK!"

I trot to first base. I know where it's going. The wrong side of the foul line. Wally's laughing.

"Nice poke, Bobby. Make it count next time."

"Okay, Coach. I'll be back in a minute."

Couple more swings. Okay, Morales, it's showtime. Only ninety feet to go. Just a hop, skip and a slide. Get ready.

"CRACK!"

It flies deep to right center. I race like hell. Wally signals me to hold up, but I know I got this. I round first, turn on the steam and run, run, run, DIVE! for that little white pillow, my arms outstretched. My lower lip is somewhere around my knees, digging a trench in the ground like a back-hoe. There's a slap on the back of my left thigh just as I'm touching the bag.

I can't hear the call. I can't hear anything. I'm deaf. The ocean is roaring and I'm lying on the beach. With a mouthful of dirt. I spit and taste blood.

"KA-BOOM!"

Gunfire! I roll over and try to focus. What happened? The field is full of white shirts. Fireworks are going off.

"Seacrest wins! The Seacrest Sea Lions win again!"

I close my eyes and just lay here. I wish it was gunfire. I'd rather die here hugging second base than walk that long mile back to the dug-out.