Baseball in early August is hot and messy. The thermometer claims it’s 110 degrees on the turf today. I sweated through my shirt long ago, and I struggle to keep my fingertips dry enough to grip the ball. I’ve warmed up and currently wait for the arrival of the first batter in the bottom of the fourth inning. I’m pitching to the top of their lineup and anxious to place a couple more strikeouts on my stats.

With the batter in the box, I step on the white rubber, looking to my ...