Striking Out  I'm playing in a baseball game. My team is fielding. I play second base. We make several bad throws in a row, some of which are my errors. The inning ends. I think there are only two outs. We're up to bat. My friend Gino Teavor is leading off, followed by my friend Norman Noman, then myself. There are many short, light bats. I look for one to use. I find the old black and gray bat that my brother Wally and I used to have as kids: I really like it. Gino may get on base. Norman hits a two-run homerun over the left field fence, down the third baseline. There is a large metal structure in left field that Gino makes a catch by jumping over. He may have caught a fly ball that he hit. There is a large net stretched across the inner outfield, from left to right field. It effectively prevents any homerun balls. I come up to bat and take two balls. I foul one pitch off to the right, then foul one off to the left. I chase bad pitches that are too fast for me with the intention of crushing one for a homerun. I swing and miss, and think it's the second strike, not remembering one of the foul balls. The catcher points out that I struck out. I realize this, and step away from home plate. I feel humbled, like I know I shouldn't be thinking about hitting a homerun, but that is a dream: a fantasy that captivates me.