mound but I know I felt like it. I died several dozen deaths that day, my male ego mortally wounded each time my pitch hit the catcher’s glove or kicked up a little pile of dust somewhere around home plate and skidded in futility to the back fence; each time that umpire yelled out for all to hear how I had missed the mark. It was perhaps the most devastating day in my young athletic life. Finally, after far too long, my coach walked to the mound and mercifully took away the baseball. That day is