I am about 9. The lights are in my eyes, and I feel like I need to throw up, go to the bathroom, or maybe pass out. There are adults cheering. My parents are encouraging me. And the kids around me are either yelling or staring at me like I am a mortal enemy. If you’re thinking I’m talking about Little League Baseball, you are a very astute individual. The pitcher is throwing the ball towards me. It isn’t really to the catcher,...