Before the first pitch, you’ve already lived through a thousand imaginary scenarios. You start in the bullpen, throwing warm-up pitches that feel like they’re going 95 mph, but in your head, they’re the worst tosses since that time you tried to skip a rock at the lake and it just sunk.
Then comes the walk to the mound. It feels like you’re walking a tightrope over a pit of piranhas. Every step is a careful negotiation with your own anxiety. You nod at the catcher, but really you’re just trying to remember how to breathe.
And then you look around. The lights are blinding, the crowd is a wall of noise, and you spot a guy in the fifth row eating a Dodger Dog so aggressively you wonder if he has a personal vendetta against it. This is your first clue that the universe does not care about your nerves.
The First Pitch: The Hot Mic of Life
That first pitch is like the opening line of a speech you haven’t rehearsed. You just hurl it, hoping for the best. Sometimes it’s a perfect strike, and you feel like a hero. Other times, it’s a wild bounce that goes straight to the backstop, and you suddenly understand why your dad always yelled at the TV during games.
It’s a lot like the first time you tried to parallel park with an audience. You’re just praying nobody honks. If you hang a curveball and it gets hit into the outfield, you feel like that time you tripped in front of your high school crush. Everyone saw it. And everyone remembers.
Ohtani ‘feeling good’ after his Dodgers pitching debut and could return
But here’s the secret: the best pitchers don’t worry about the first pitch. They just accept that it’s going to be a little messy, like the first slice of a new loaf of bread. You forgive yourself and move on.
