The stage was set. Victory, inevitable.
But the kid at home plate has other ideas. Time to end his non-existent career.
“Strike one!”
The kid spots his mother – arms crossed, eyes aflame. She’s already figured out the plan. He’ll catch heat for sure, probably the back of her hand.
“Strike two!”
The kid rests the bat against his shoulder. An act of God couldn’t get him to use that piece of lumber now.
The pitcher launches into his windup as a welcome smile creeps across the batter’s face. He can’t wait to hear what the umpire has to say next…
The Weekday One Hundred 