The one where the sun is beating down on your head, and the sweat that has escaped from under your helmet is trickling over the neck of your red-and-whites.

"Yeah," you think to yourself. "This is good sun. This is good sweat."

The smells of the natural turf, the leather of your batting glove, and the dust kicked up by the catcher's cleats fill your nostrils as you squint past the sun to the pitcher's mound.

There he is out there, your nemesis, Mitch "Wild Thing" Williams.

Keep it cool, guy, cool.

You know you only have to get on base. Load 'em up.

Sure, a RBI would be nice, but if you just get on base, your teammates will bring you all home for the go-ahead. You cast a glance back at the dugout. There they are, your teammates, cheering you on.

You throw your eyes down the line and your coach, Greg "The Bull" Luzinski, is running through the signs_the green light!

Now it's decision time. Do you line one over the head of Mariano Duncan, drag one towards the Krukker, or do you tattoo one in the gap sending Jim "Eisy" Eisenreich on his horse?

But enough woolgathering!

You've got a base hit to make.

Dig in and stare Williams down.

Feel the sun. Stare him down.

Smell the grass. Stare him down.

Feel your heart thundering in your chest. Stare him down.

Feel... smell...

Hear the crack of the baseball leather against your bat!

Hear the cheers!