As kids we mostly lived inside our own heads. We conformed in public because that's what it took to survive. But between the ears we were caterwauling, rebellious dreamers. I'd grab a baseball and go behind the garage and throw 9 innings at the wall, Nolan Ryan firing 100 mph fastballs, occasionally dusting off a batter that got too cute. Gotta teach 'em not to dig in. Peering in to get the signs.....always from the full wind-up because nobody ever reached base on me. I'd be wringing wet when it was over, exhausted from throwing maybe 90 pitches (I only needed 9 non-brush back pitches each inning....all strikes of course), and doubling as Vin Scully, describing my masterpiece to everybody listening on the radio. I was also the crowd noise. There might be a sudden rain delay if I was called in for dinner by my Mom, but these things happen. I was unhittable.
Awesome.
Inspired by a certain essay I read a few hours earlier!