I recall this from my childhood. My two friends and I had an intense little league baseball rivalry. They were on one team and I was on another. Our two teams were tied for first place when the schdule had us paired against each other one Saturday afternoon. In little league the games were six innings. Going in to the bottom of the sixth, my team was down by 3 runs. One of my friends was their pitcher and the other was their right fielder. In the bottom of the sixth, after a couple of outs, our team managed to load the bases with 2 singles and a walk. As fate would have it, I came to the plate against my friend in the do or die situation. My friend who was pitching got ahead in the count early by me going after a bad pitch and a questionable called strike. After what seemed like 10 minutes of fouling off pitches and taking some balls the count was full....3 balls and two strikes. From my 11 year old perspective it was pressure packed with cheers from our side of the bench and jeers from the other. Our coach called time to talk with me. I trotted over and all he said was, " You can do this, wait for YOUR pitch". I went back to the plate, the ump called play ball, and the pitcher wound up for the next pitch. I was a lefty so I waited for it from the right side of the plate. In came the fastball. This was it. I kept my eye on the ball. I swung and the ball soared high out to right field over my other friends head. In desparation he threw his mitt up at the ball to no avail. The ball landed out on the playground pavement as I rounded the bases with a grand slam to win the game. Our team mobbed me at home plate and of course my two freinds on the opposing team were sad....for a while. In short order, the three of us got on our bikes and pedaled over to the local towns ice cream store. We were just kids playing the game that America loves.