Kanna Emma

It started innocently. I was supposed to be “just checking email” before bed — but five minutes later, I was swinging wildly at cartoon pitches thrown by a smug soda bottle. That’s the thing about doodle baseball: you don’t plan to play it, it just happens to you. The next thing you know, it’s midnight, your score is 12, your ego is bruised, and you’re cheering for a peanut with a bat. And somehow, it’s perfect.