Stealing Second

I can steal second base, I know it. The manager doesn't think so, my teammates have no confidence in me. My first base coach told me to stick close, our best hitter is up, perfectly capable of driving me to third with a hit.
Some part of me wants to scream. I can TASTE second base, can visualize myself sliding in under the tag, hear the ump shout SAFE!.
I sense not even the umps believe I can do it. The crowd should be yelling at me to go. Why don't they believe in me? Is it my posture in the field? Do they sense  insecurity? These people don't know me, the real me. All they know is the guy who's been caught stealing 19 times in a row. That, in the context of an entire baseball career, is a small sample.
Look at the smirk on that pitcher's face. He won't even throw over. The first baseman is chuckling at my small lead off the base. But that is how I will pull this off. I will lull them into indifference, then I'll explode out of my crouch--I have an elegant crouch--and like lightning will fly across those 90 feet. When I get to my feet at second, covered in dirt, I will look straight into my dugout and give a little nod, professional to professional.
I'm going to inch off a bit more now, just a bit. Next pitch, I'm going. Believe it. Unless it starts drizzling. Rain throws me off.