It was nearing the end of a pretty stressful game. The score was close and it was up to you to make the last hit of the game. You step up to the plate, holding your bat above your shoulder. The pitch is thrown. You swing, the ball flies through the air and lands in the grass of the outfield, thrown to first base, you get out. You sulk back to the dugout, collecting your things in silence. When you turn around, you see Ghost standing in the doorway. “You played good today.”