Scott Hollifield: No strikes and I'm out

I walked to the mound with a swagger, then glared into the batter's box at the opponent I would vanquish with blistering fastballs.

"Oh, you want the heat, Mr. Barry Bonds? Then you're gonna get the heat."

Sixty feet, six inches away or a reasonable facsimile of that distance was the seven-time Most Valuable Player or a reasonable video facsimile of the former slugger projected onto a screen in the pitching exhibit at WonderWorks in Pigeon Forge, Tenn., home to "over 100 interactive adventures that will challenge your mind and body."

At that moment, it was Bonds who was challenged.

With the crowd roaring, or, more accurately, standing behind me in line waiting their turn, I rocked back and brought the aforementioned heat.

It brushed video Barry Bonds' shoe tops, and my pitch speed flashed on the screen. It was at that moment I realized I had lost a little bit on my fastball.

At WonderWorks' simulated pitching exhibit, aspiring big leaguers can step up, select a current or former Major Leaguer Chipper Jones, Craig Biggio, Mark McGwire, Bonds and others and actually pitch to their images, resulting in a strikeout, walk, base hit or home run. The speed of each pitch is displayed for all to see.

It was part of the Pigeon Forge trip I most anticipated. My youngest brother enjoyed the magical pitching exhibit during an earlier visit.

"I struck Barry Bonds out on three pitches," he said.

"I'll strike him out on two," I replied.

"That would be impossible."

"As a result of the steroid scandal, Barry Bonds will always have one strike against him, so I say it is possible."

The conversation didn't go exactly like that, but it was among the many thoughts I had as I stood (and stood and stood) in line with children and moms and dads and maw-maws and paw-paws wait-ing to pitch. As the line inched forward, I began to daydream. Eventually, two chubby kids in front of me head-butting each other weren't obnoxious, ill-mannered brats but a Major League manager and a pitching coach discussing strategy on the dugout steps.

"Who do we bring in to face Bonds?"

"Let's go with Hollifield."

"Hollifield? The last thing he did in organized baseball was walk sadly away from the high school locker room list that told him his services would not be required for the 1986 season."

"Skipper, he's a wily veteran now. Since then he's packed on 30 pounds of solid ... well, he's 30 pounds heavier. He's smarter. He's developed his competitive edge. And he can bring the heat."

I heard the public address announcer call my name, though it kind of sounded like, "Maintenance to the inversion tunnel with a mop and bucket."

I picked up the ball and looked in for the sign. The windup. The pitch.

Ball one at 47 mph.

47 mph?

Had I struck my head in the inversion tunnel and developed sudden-onset dyslexia? Surely, it was 74 mph, and that was just me warming up.

Once more, I rocked back and let 'er rip.

Ball two at 46 mph.

Good heavens, this radar gun must be farther off than the one wielded by the state trooper in Bishopville, S.C., who took all my beer money in '87.

Two more pitches produced similar results and an odd feeling in my shoulder. I walked away sadly, as if that locker room list had been transported through time and stuck to the entrance of the pitching exhibit.

I think the chubby kids were laughing at me.

But I won't let it get me down. You won this time, video Barry Bonds, but I'll be back. I will train hard in the off season. I will not consume my weight in pancakes at one of the seemingly infinite all-you-can-eat Pigeon Forge breakfast buffets on game day.

And I will bring the heat.

Scott Hollifield is editor/general manager of The McDowell News in Marion, N.C. and a colum-nist for The Media General News Service. Contact him at P.O. Box 610, Marion, N.C. 28752 or e-mail rhollifield@mcdowellnews.com.