Dig in when he aims for your head.

So you're standing on the corner of family and career with a smile on your face when a ball suddenly fies over your right shoulder just missing your head. You quickly turn around to see life standing behind you. With a trademarked smirk that has paralyzed millions in the past, he's tossing another ball up and down in his hand. He slowly nods once; it's his way of saying "remember me?".

He pulls the ballcap low across his brow, bends at the waist and shakes off the first sign. You stand there, not only wondering what the hell he's doing but what the hell is actually going on. By the time you decide it would be prudent to grab a helmet and your Savoy Special, he's already in the stretch. This is all going way too fast. You take a half-step towards the plate, check your feet and look up only to see a sinking curveball flying straight at your head that's neither sinking nor curving.

Holy shit, your brain screams, life is gonna kill me.

The ball violently ricochets off your helmet, immediately dropping you to one knee. As you gather your wits, the ball that just announced life's cruel twist slowly rolls on the ground toward your shaken feet. It's then you notice there's something written on the ball.

"Congratulations. You're both pregnant again."

Still reeling from the sudden impact, you shake off the cobwebs creeping into your head and stand up. No, you didn't plan on this one. Not now. Sure, you had plans to add a few more stockings to the Christmas mantle in the coming years, but this early? No. However, the more you think about it, the more you realize it's a blessing; a gift given from God above. This present was just opened a little early, that's all.

So you brush yourself off and turn back towards life. This time his smile is gone and he appears to be mumbling something in your direction. He now looks angry, but not as angry as the high heat he's launched once again in your direction. You try to pick up the spin on the ball, hoping the rotation of the red seams will foreshadow its movement and direction. What you see instead are more words written on the ball.

"We're sorry to announce that you've been laid off. Best of luck in the future. And congratulations on the new kid."

You freeze at the news. This can't be right, you argue. Not now. Not with another mouth on the way. But by the time your brain tells your body to duck, it's too late. You've been drilled in the head once again and you drop straight to the ground. And this time it's harder to get back up.

But you do.

You stand back up, weak-kneed and blurry-eyed. Only this time, you don't dust yourself off. You don't step back from the plate and look for direction from the bench. You start walking towards the mound looking to take a swing at life.

His teammates in the field rush to his defense, taunting you in the process. They throw out jabs like "401(k)", "COBRA" and "Mortgage". "What are you gonna do now, huh?" "Life throw a little too hard for you?" And just as the first sign of doubt, the first second of second-guessing, enters your mind, you notice your team's dugout is empty.

It's empty because there, standing shoulder to shoulder behind you, are your boys looking to whip life's ass with you.

For several tense seconds, no one blinks. One wrong move could turn the game, this game you never asked to play in the first place, into the pay-per-view fight of the century. Thankfully, cooler heads prevail and each team slowly returns to its rightful place on the field.

Moments later, you dig back into the box. You crowd the plate, almost daring life to throw at you again. This time, unlike the last two, you're ready. Ready for anything. At this point, you have nothing to lose and everything, everything, to gain. With one solid swing, you can take your career, along with your growing family, on a ride no one will ever forget. With one solid swing, you will cement your reputation as That Guy Who Got Lemons and Made Lynchburg Lemonade.

You've never been more focused. More prepared. More motivated. You quickly realize you have the second chance that others only dream of. Now you're praying for something, anything, to hit. And life, never one to disappoint, delivers. Your elbow is tucked in tight, your head is down and you're ready to tattoo your brand of justice all over the meat this two-bit belly-itcher calls a pitch.

Here's the wind-up.

And the pitch...