My sister was three years older than me. Although I was a good athlete, she was a great athlete and used to beat me in everything. While she would hang out with her friends, she would occasionally play in the neighborhood nightly stickball games, which were fungo style. I can’t remember her playing and not hitting at least one home run. On the night I hit my first home run and put my team up be about eight or nine runs, she led her team to a lop-sided victory, hitting four in a row in the bottom of the inning. As much as we always tried to get the best of each other, and as much as I hated to see her do well, I was disappointed when we ended the game because of darkness. She was up next and based on the zone she was in (and the fact that it was getting hard to see the ball) I was sure that she was going to hit her fifth home run of the inning. After her second home run, the outfielders were playing her pretty deep. Yet, she still hit the ball so far that the oufielders couldn’t stop her.