Pitching

The umpire yells the count, as I stand impatiently on the mound waiting for the batter to take his steps into the batters box. I can feel the sweat in my hair, my breathing and heart pumping. I grip the ball, waiting for the catcher to give me the sign. Seeing the sign that was given by my catcher, i shake my head not once, not twice, but three times until he gives me the sign I want. Fiddling with the ball in my glove until I feel the seems up against my fingers, the rough feel of the ball that is gritty with dirt. Taking a step back I wind up, and then comes my high leg kick, with my knee almost hitting my chest. With my long stride towards the plate, I feel my metal spikes secure themselves into the dirt, like a dog sinking its teeth into a bone. Feeling my arm whip as I let go of the ball, letting the ball fly towards the plate and a soaring 73 mph. As my back leg comes up almost as high as the sky, I see the batter swing and misses, yet again. Trotting back to the dugout, I feel the aching of my arm from pitching so much. Yet, I don't mind the pain as much anymore, because the pride of knowing that I can dominate any batter outweighs the pain, the struggle, and whatever errors we may make along the way.