An excerpt from "The Sports Gene":
Finch rocked back and then forward, whipping her arm in a giant circle. She fired the first pitch just high. Pujols lurched backward, startled by what he saw. Finch giggled.
She unleashed another fastball, this time high and inside. Pujols spun defensively, turning his head away. Behind him, his professional peers guffawed.
Pujols stepped out of the batter's box, composed himself and stepped back in. He twisted his feet into the dirt and stared back at Finch.
The next pitch came right down the middle. Pujols uncoiled a violent swing. The ball sailed past his bat, and the spectators hooted.
The next pitch was way outside, and Pujols let it go. The one after that was another strike, and Pujols whiffed again. With one strike remaining, Pujols moved to the back of the batter's box and dug in, crouching low in his stance.
Finch rocked and fired. Pujols missed badly. He turned and walked away, toward his tittering teammates. Then he stopped, bewildered. He turned back to Finch, doffed his cap and continued on his way.
"I never want to experience that again," he later said.
A great example of what’s discussed in the article this must be ping pong. Top players hit the ball so hard and it’s so small that returning it must be based on observing the other player’s movements rather than the ball after it’s been hit.
I sort of had that experience in college – in my dorm was the under 18 ping pong champ for Oregon/Washington. There was no way to beat him – once he had his paddle sent to the dorm he would spot you an 18-0 lead and almost always win (although by the time I agreed to play him that way I had played with him long enough that I managed to win 22-20). Anyway, he had this unbelievable forehand I distinctly remember the one time I returned it for a winner when he hit it cleanly it was like my mind knew where the ball was going to go in advance and my hand somehow ended up there. It now makes a lot more sense.
Anyway, carry on.