Picture of me as a stud high school baseball player, spring on 1985. Look at the classical form, the powerful sense of calm. Textbook isn't it?
My cousin came to the game and took pictures. My dad was there too, one of a handful of games he saw me play. I know I got a hit and made an error at second base but the only part I have a clear memory of was gawking at a 3-2 meatball right over the plate. Unable to move. Struck out looking to end the game. For someone who rarely met a pitch he didn't hack at this was notable.
Our manager was coaching third and he walked to me as the players left the field, put me in a head lock and gave me the kind of a hug only a coach gives.