I behaved like a child and now I am embarassed; let me try to explain

Do you feel mature? Do you feel in control of your emotions? Do you think you are above it? Do you think you are detached enough from it? Are you "over it"? Try this:

-Pitch in what appears to be a pretty well-matched softball game
-Get two outs in the second inning
-Walk nine batters in a row, one of whom may be retarded and two of whom cannot hit the ball forward into the field of play
-Finally get out of the inning on a lead-off technicality called by your merciful merciful man in blue
-Strike out at the plate

Now, you may be more mature, but what happened with me is that I threw a fit and beat the shit out of a plastic gas can and a water bottle, and suddenly I couldn't slow my breathing or look any human in the eye lest they know that I HATED THEM ALL.

Now, try this:

-Go out and have a bit more control, but have every walk followed by a home run, or every error followed by a triple, etc.
-Despite it all have your team be hitting well, and keeping the score within reach
-Get some people on base in front of you, so you have a chance to redeem yourself
-Strike out at the plate

I know I am 31, but it was all I could do to not just throw myself face-down on the ground and pound my fists into the dirt and scream. I stopped talking to others, and did not register when they talked to me. I stared blankly ahead. I threw a pitch and stood there quietly until it was time to throw another. I tried to breathe deeply and tried not to hate everything in the world, especially softball, but I failed. I hated every single thing about everything. I was filled with hate. I could feel the blood in my cheeks, and it was the feeling of hate. I could feel the sweat building in my pores, and it was excess hate that couldn't fit in my body. My eyes were misty with hate-condensation. Every movement of every muscle in my body was a meticulously choreographed physical expression of pure hate. My focus was nearly complete, but utterly negative. You have perhaps heard of a "fuck all" attitude. This was my complete focus: fuck EVERYTHING. My mind was sharp. My thoughts were crisp. Every ball and every strike I threw were balls and strikes of pure hate. I hated myself for throwing the ball; I hated the ball for floating towards the plate; I hated the plate for being next to the batter; I hated the batter for swinging the bat; I hated the bat for striking the ball; I hated the ball for flying through the air; I hated the air for providing refuge for birds; I hate birds because, well, I don't know, that's just sort of personal.

We rallied late, and I was on deck as the game ended, one ball away from another chance at redemption. And yes, I hated the person who struck out in front of me. That final keystone of hate called "strike three" should have been mine to lay in my own perfect collosus of suck.