Everybody thought it was going to be some huge deal. But stepping into the batter's box against Nolan Ryan on Aug. 16 at 12:13 p.m. wasn't my first big league experience. That was waking up in a sweat at 4:08 a.m. earlier that day, just thinking about facing the Ryan Express.

Baby Ruth flew 10 contest winners to Round Rock, Texas -- where Ryan owns the Double-A Express, as well as the bank next door -- to take some hacks against the man who'd probably buzzed more hitters than anyone ever. He'd dust his own son if he thought it necessary. (More about that later.) In his Hall of Fame prime, Ryan fired 100-mph gas; but at age 56 and after a double bypass, word was he topped out in the high 80s. Jamie Moyer should be so lucky.

A PR guy invited me along because I once took Bill Gullickson's little brother right back up the middle in a high school game. Well, that and the ESPN thing. To prepare, I went to the batting cage a couple of times and hit some shots in one that says, DANGER, MAJOR LEAGUE. So I was feeling pretty good about myself when I hit town. I'd even come up with a few good lines for when I turned around the Ryan Express. 1.) Your Hall of Fame plaque says you're a fierce competitor; 2.) That all you got, old man? and 3.) (my favorite) Your real name is Lynn, right?

Then, the night before, I went to the Express game at Dell Diamond and ran into Reid and Reese Ryan, Nolan's sons who run the team. I asked Reid for some advice on facing dear old dad. "If you see that twinkle in his eye," he said, "don't dig in. He'll probably smoke you -- in the ribs."

	Nolan Ryan grins as he sizes up Ed.

Good talking to you, Reid. Reese, your dad never beaned you, did he? "Plenty of times," he said. "We had a batting cage in our backyard growing up, and one time I hit a shot and said, 'That was like that homer Bo Jackson hit off you.' Next pitch, he just drilled me. It was only a rag ball but, man, it hurt.

"Then there was the time in high school when he hit our star catcher in the head 90 minutes before a state playoff game."

That's when the PR guy chimed in with, "We'll have an EMT tomorrow, just in case."

Everyone I talked to said pretty much the same thing: Nolan won't be out there to amuse you. On the way out, Express assistant GM Dave Fendrick advised, "Get a good night's sleep."

Yeah, right.

The next morning, as I lay awake in bed, the hotel phone rang. It was my six-year-old son, Grant.

"Dad, did you get any hits off of Nolan Ryan?" he asked.

"I haven't even faced him yet," I said. But, hey, thanks for the added pressure.

I got to the ballpark early, hoping for a little extra batting practice, and saw a woman playing with her grandson on the field. "Hi, I'm Ruth Ryan," she said. I asked her if she still catches Nolan, like in those old Advil commercials. She answered, "These days, it would be more like, 'Can you see the target?'"

OK, let's get started. Fendrick told us the format: We'd get some BP against Reid and Reese, two former college pitchers, and then Nolan would come in to close the deal. I was in the cage, stroking liners off Reese, when I heard a familiar Texas twang. There he was, the strikeout king himself, looking fit and trim and ready to throw.

"You're going to take it easy on us, right?" I asked.

"My goal today," he drawled, sounding like Strother Martin in 'Cool Hand Luke', "is to not hit anybody. I haven't thrown since January."

I was hoping we'd had a failure to communicate. January? "That's OK," I told him, "I'll be hitting at the end."

"Ooh, that's not good," Nolan said. "You want to be about third. That's when I might get into a groove. After that, it's over."

Turns out, hitting third wasn't so good -- depending on how you look at it. Kevin Szymanski of Encino, Calif., a former high school teammate of Phillies All-Star lefty Randy Wolf, took the Express right in the back. Szymanski was sore, but thrilled: "As soon as we leave the yard, I'm calling everybody I know to tell them I got drilled by Nolan Ryan."

The rest of the contest winners escaped unscathed -- a couple actually looped singles into the outfield -- though one muttered, "He broke my bat" as he walked away. Another had a throbbing thumb after Ryan busted him in on the fist. "Take two Advil and see you tomorrow," Nolan said with a laugh.

	Ed swings for the fences against Nolan Ryan.

Then it was my turn. As I stepped into the batter's box, I couldn't remember any of my witty lines. The only thing I was thinking was, Geez, that mound looks close. Ryan locked in, gave me 'The Scowl,' then the big leg kick ... and buzzed me inside at the knees. Boy, batter's box seems small, too. After another low fastball, he threw me a hook that was bearing down and in. I started to swing, changed my mind halfway through, and nearly fell forward trying to hold up. I looked out at Ryan, who was just grinning at me.

"I didn't think you just wanted me to toss it up there," he said.

He came back with the Express, and I fouled it back. Now I had a bead on him. The next two fastballs were outside. "The lefthanders were at a disadvantage today because the ball was really running away from you," Ryan said later.

This is where I mention that I'm a lefty.

I swung and missed a hellacious curve, fouled another one back and took a fastball outside. Hey, no hit yet, but if this were a real game, I'd already worked a walk, which my dad used to say was just as good. And those pitches would have been balls in any QuesTec park in the country.

Ruth Ryan, who's seen Nolan pitch so often that she's a human radar gun, estimated that he was throwing in the mid-80s. "And his ball still makes that sound that's different from anyone else's," she said. "It unnerves you."

Really? I hadn't noticed.

On the last two pitches ... well, the sun got in my eyes, the white Baby Ruth banner behind the mound made it hard to pick up the ball, there was no pine tar so it was hard to get a grip on the bat, I was working on four hours' sleep, he was pitching on 195 days' rest, there was a blackout in the Northeast ...

OK, OK. He smoked me.

At least it wasn't in the ribs.

Ed McGregor is a general editor at ESPN The Magazine.