Life. A 6'6" southpaw hurler.

I don't know much. But I figured out over the last few months that I do know one thing. Life's a major league pitcher.

Life has a nasty 12 to 6 curve, a crippling slider, and can even break out a paralyzing knuckler from time to time. His fastball is deceiving, and comes at a steep angle, but it's hittable if he's underestimating the man in the box. Out from the on-deck circle, I'm ready. Finally. Life's imposing to say the least. I'm digging back in, and it's my chance to take the lead in what's been a see-saw battle for years. I'm standing in the box, knees knocking, hoping and praying for a fastball right in my wheelhouse. Out of nowhere, I have a moment of calm, and somehow I know that a two-seam heater is exactly what's coming. I can feel it. First time I've felt anything like it in forever. It's like I'm in his head. I have the upper hand. I'm adjusting my stance, my grip, taking slow, steady breaths, just waiting...

TO BE CONTINUED...