When Aaron Judge hits -- when he really connects with a ball -- there is no other thing like it in baseball. Like a fingerprint, the sharp snap of horsehide on maple is singularly identifiable. From home plate, the ball is transformed, becoming an arcing, turbocharged comet headed toward Yankee Stadium's outfield seats. The ball does not leave Judge's bat as much as it flees, a jailbreak high over the wall.
When Aaron Judge strikes out -- when he hears that pop in the catcher's mitt and the umpire's bark behind him -- it is controlled disappointment.