A scene from Major League

A rough, rugged voice announces a pitching change on the mound. “Get me Vaughn,” the manager said, signaling to the bullpen with two extended fingers.

The catcher responds puzzled, “You want Vaughn?”

The mustached man replies, “I know he hasn’t done very well lately. But I have a hunch he is due.”

The manager rubbed the baseball so furiously the ball could have turned to dust within his thick fingers. Two doors in the outfield open, and a thunderous applause rings throughout the stadium as Rick “Wild Thing” Vaughn enters the game.

He calmly walks to the mound that he is no stranger to, feeling the coolness of the night as the whole stadium sings “Wild Thing.”

Vaughn picks up his pace as the mound draws nearer. Breath in. Breath out.

“OK, Ricky,” the manager said sternly. “Haywood likes the hard stuff out over the plate. Bust him in and don’t give up on anything.”

Vaughn eerily stares at the runner on third base as fans continue to chant his name, the noise almost at a deafening level.

“You listening to me Rick?” the manger said. “Yeah,” Vaughn said with a glazed appearance.

The mangers looks Vaughn in the eyes, “Alright,” he said. “You're my man. Go get him kid.”

With a calming smirk, the catcher is the last person to leave the mound conference. “This is the out you have been waiting your whole life for.”

Vaughn racks the mound frantically with his right foot, preparing to face the batter with two outs. It’s the same batter who had hit two home runs off him.

He deliverers a warm up pitch over the plate and is ready. But he is interrupted by the third baseman.

He takes the ball.

“Let’s cut the crap out, Vaughn,” he said. “I only have one thing to say to you: Strike him out.”

He hands the ball back into Vaughn’s unshaken palms.

“So a surprise move to bring in the Wild Thing, who has been shelled in two outings against the Yankees,” the radio announcer said.

The public address announcer introduces the first baseman, Will Haywood. With his back to the mound, Vaughn slaps his glove and faces the plate. His thick rimmed glasses stare at the batter as his cleats dig into the dirt.

Vaughn knew that everyone in the stadium knew what was coming: a heavy dose of fastballs. But he didn’t know if his stuff was good enough that night as he stretched for the first pitch.

The man towers above the catcher with his muscular build.

The catcher calls for a breaking ball. But Vaughn shakes him off. The catcher then stuck his index finger down. With wide eyes, Vaughn nods his head before the finger is fully extended.

The pitch is delivered, and it is an up-and-in fastball that is swung on and missed. Vaughn confidently catches the ball.

“That sucker was moving,” the catcher said to the batter. The catcher signals for another fast ball. But Vaughn doesn’t even bother to nod. The pitch is high, but Haywood swings late. He kicks the dirt with disgust.

Vaughn catches the ball glowing with confidence. He knows he is on top of the world.

“Man, with all these pitches, maybe we should try something different,” the catcher said.

Another fast ball is called for. Another high and tight fast ball is swung upon. And it’s missed. Strike three.