The Mound
The dirt on the mound seemed like it was speaking to him. “Throw the slider. Sling it across the strike zone,” it told him. The pitcher looked at the catcher, and saw him call for the fastball on the inside half of the zone. The pitcher had a tough decision. He looked down again at the sandy dirt. He grabbed a handful of it and rubbed it around his hands. Putting on his glove, he stood ready to pitch. His left leg rose and his right hand gripped the baseball. He hurled the ball and the slider went straight through the zone, the batter quickly swung, and missed.
“Striiiiike!” the umpire hollered. The pitcher looked down and looked at the mound.
“I told you,” the pitcher looked around to make sure no one was looking at him.
“What the heck are you?” he whispered gently
“I have been here almost twenty years. I have endless knowledge in the game, you like to call, baseball,” the mound answered back with a scoff to his voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Listen to me, throw a change-up out of the zone, and I will tell you my secrets.” the mound replied to him. The pitcher thought about the decision. He could seriously put his team in danger if the mound was wrong, but he could also get ahead in the count. The catcher called for the pitch, a fastball, on the lower part of the zone. The pitcher nodded and gripped the baseball, concealing it, in his glove. His left leg rose again and his right arm flung the ball.
“Striiiike!” the change-up hit the zone, and the umpire called it out. The pitcher looked down again, completely astonished.
“When you see several pitchers play here, you learn the language, and therefore I help all pitchers.”
“But, how can I hear you? You do not even have a mouth,” His mind whirled around.
“You don’t worry about that dilemma. Most other pitchers ask that too, but then they see I help them tremendously, and they don’t care anymore.”
“Alright, how should I strike this guy out?” he asked the all-knowing mound.
“Throw a fastball, right, near the top of the zone.” The pitcher gripped the baseball with the two-seam grip. He looked at the batter’s eyes. They glistened like the stars above everyone’s head. He lifted his left leg and hurled the ball. The batter’s eyes grew wide and everything went through his mind, extend on the ball. Don’t drive it into the ground. Hit the sweet spot. The pitcher heard the crack of the bat and he whipped his head around. He saw the ball leave the stadium. The crowd roared, and the batter started running the bases. His jaunt ended where it started.
“Thanks,” the batter said “you really helped.”
“No problem, I know how to handle pitchers here,” the home plate replied back to him.
Gender:
Points: 300
Reviews: 0