With sweat sprinkled across his brow and his arms pumping vigorously, Scott rounded third base and ran for home. He ran as fast as he could, he pushed himself for even more speed. The field dust began to billow in a cloud behind his nimble, Thomas the Train-clad feet. With a grunt, he dropped to his knees and slid into home base.
"Safe!" he yelled, after rolling in the dirt for a second or two. He stood up and dusted off his shorts, smiling to me in the bleachers.
Then he had to go...the coach was ready to start the practice.
I think he's got the whole adrenaline-packed rush to the base thing down. Some things don't require a coach!