When you were growing up and playing catch, you always dreamed of this Moment. You're standing on the Mound in the Middle of the cavernous stadium, one strike away from perfection. Twenty-six players have come up to bat, and you've sent them all back to the dugout with their heads hanging. Number 27 is at the plate and the count is in your favor. You peer into the catcher and he flashes the sign — good old number one — it's time to bring the heat. You kick your leg and wind up with everything left in the tank. The crowd holds its collective breath and flashbulbs pop as the ball cuts through the air toward the plate. The batter hesitates just enough and begins his swing, but it's too late. The pop of the catcher's Mitt reverberates through the stadium as your teammates Mob you on the Mound. This is perfection.