Batting practice

The sharp crack of a bat on a ball is one that you are never likely to forget, nor fail to recognise. It's coming from a screened area behind the third base fence, that to your experienced eye looks very much like a batting cage. Curious to see who is working out, you leave the field and head in that direction.

As you approach the cage you can see that there are two cages side by side. The one on the left is occupied by a lean black girl in shorts and t-shirt. She wears cleats and batting gloves, but no helmet, clearly disregarding the notice posted on the cage.

You watch her hit, noting how her body coils then unleashes, the bat slashing through the strike zone and driving the ball on a line back at the pitching machine. She has athlete written all over her, and if there is an ounce of extra fat you certainly can't see it. Her face is a mask of concentration, her cheekbones sharp and high, the effect more striking than beautiful, and all the more impressive for that. Her hair is done in long cornrows, tied back behind her neck. You can see her lips move as she hits, and you move closer, trying to hear what she's muttering to herself.

As you strain to listen, you observe the details of her positioning, how she holds her hands, how her front foot slidesteps as she strides, her hips exploding and the bat head coming sharply through the ball, her arms extending as she makes contact. And then you hear what she's saying, repeating the same line over and over like a mantra.

"I'm Dontai Fuckin' Williams, and I'm the best fuckin' hitter in the game."