Someday, someone is going to pull his head out of the sand, look around San Francisco, and realize, "Jesus, this town doesn't have any batting cages." And this person will get some money together, buy a chunk of real estate in a not-too-grossly-expensive part of the city, and think to himself, "If you build it, they will come." And they will: All the kiddies in their Little League uniforms; all the middle-schoolers in search of a different place to throw their birthday parties; and all those guys in their 20s and 30s who want to reclaim a bit of faded glory by holding that bat in their hands, staring down that pitching machine, and whiffing, completely and totally, on the first rock-hard, yellow faux baseball that zooms directly at their crotch. This is life at a batting cage, and it's a shame San Franciscans in search of a fastball have to go to San Leandro or San Rafael or some other such suburban locale to find it.