CLAYTON KERSHAW DOESN'T look happy. He never does on the days he pitches. "The worst," says Dodgers catcher A.J. Ellis. It's 10 minutes until game time on Aug. 5. Dodgers vs. Angels. Kershaw vs. Trout. Fans squeeze three-deep around the bullpen to gawk at the hurler's final preparations. Fellow starters Josh Beckett, Dan Haren and Hyun-Jin Ryu are here too, close enough to offer support and far enough to stay out of the way. Nobody talks. Just Kershaw's glare and the pop of the ball into Ellis' glove. He bounces a slider in front of the plate, takes the throw back from Ellis and chucks the ball against the bullpen wall in disgust.

"He puts so much pressure on himself; it stresses me out," Haren says. "I'm always like, 'What are you so worked up about? Don't you know you're going to deal?'"

Call it the burden of greatness. When you win two Cy Youngs before your 26th birthday, have the lowest career ERA of any pitcher with 100 starts and 1,000 innings since 1920 and draw legitimate comparisons with Sandy Koufax in his prime, perfection is the mandate.

MIKE TROUT CAN'T stop smiling. Around the batting cage, he teases teammates. Poses for pictures. Signs a handful of autographs. He knows all eyes are on his every move. Yet he doesn't seem to care. "I'm not sure he's ever had a bad day in his life," his father, Jeff, says.

With his last batting practice swing, young Trout crushes a belt-high pitch into the 
Dodger Stadium parking lot, some 475 feet from home plate. He leaves the cage with a shrug and a grin, like a toddler who didn't realize he was strong enough to knock over the cookie jar. "I wasn't trying to do that," he says later. "It just sort of happened."

Twenty-one teams passed on Trout in the 2009 MLB draft. That makes 21 general managers who should now be out of a job. In a little over three seasons, Trout has produced more wins above replacement (26.3) than any player through his 22-year-old season, according to Baseball-Reference.com, and is one of only four players with three seasons of at least 25 home runs before the age of 23.

"He's on another planet," Ellis says.

AS TROUT WALKS to the plate for his first at-bat, the Dodger Stadium crowd greets him with boos. Cool with playing the villain, he taps plate umpire Chris Segal and Ellis on the back of their legs with his bat. He looks to the Dodgers' dugout and nods to Mattingly. He looks out at Kershaw and nods again. And with one practice swing and a tap of the plate, he's locked in and ready.

Conventional baseball wisdom gives the edge to the pitcher. But that's all irrelevant now. When Trout steps in, Ellis senses the gravity of the moment. Some four hours earlier in the Dodgers' dugout, he outlined the game plan for the night. Trout typically lays off the first pitch, so they want to establish strike 1. From there, the idea is to attack Trout up in the zone, where, entering the game, he is hitting just .073 in 55 at-bats ending with elevated strikes. Ellis might call on Kershaw's wicked curve or slider as a wipeout pitch but admits it's risky. "He's such a dangerous low-ball hitter, that slider has to touch the dirt," Ellis says. "Because if it doesn't, at that speed, breaking into his bat ... it's not just hit, it's hit for damage."

Kershaw begins his windup, and Trout has already decided he's not going to swing. He lets a 93 mph fastball zip past for strike 1. On the second pitch, Kershaw throws a 75 mph bender. It's a borderline strike, but Segal calls it a ball. "Impressive," Trout says later. Kershaw's third pitch, a fastball, climbs high and inside, where Trout is supposedly vulnerable. But Trout turns on the ball and rips it toward third base. Dodgers third baseman Juan Uribe dives, snags the ball in his glove, jumps to his feet and fires to first. But Trout is too fast. His right foot touches the bag just as the ball arrives. The umpire calls Trout safe. Mattingly challenges the ruling, but it's upheld. Up in the Dodgers' broadcast booth, Hall of Fame announcer Vin Scully declares that Trout "has wings on his feet." Two pitches later, Angels first baseman Albert Pujols grounds into an inning-ending double play.

OUTSIDE THE DODGERS' clubhouse a few minutes after the game, reporters ask Kershaw about facing Trout for the first time.

"I'm not going to talk about individual at-bats," he says. "He's a great hitter. He had two hits tonight. You tip your cap."

Asked later about his frustrations with the line of questioning, Kershaw still isn't having it.

"It's not as if you're just facing another hitter," he says. "The guy is the best player in the game. You better be on point. But as far as whether or not I'm understanding the magnitude and everyone else making a big deal out of it? No, not really."

In the Angels' clubhouse, an enthusiastic Trout takes a different approach.

"It's always special to be compared to the greats and be part of all the things that 
come along with playing the game," he says. "Clayton, he's an awesome guy. What a great guy to be cool with."

TWO DAYS LATER, the series has moved to Anaheim, and on the afternoon of his 23rd birthday, Trout is in a news-conference room signing balls, bats and jerseys as part of a contract he signed with MLB Alumni Marketing. Proceeds from his autographs will go to benefit the players whose records he hopes to someday break. For more than two hours, he scribbles his name and taglines: "'14 AS MVP" and "5-tool player." Richards pokes his head in for a look. "He's nuts," he says. "On his birthday."

In the visitors' clubhouse, Kershaw carries an exercise mat. Ryu and Uribe play dominoes. Ellis watches film on a laptop. Puig has yet to arrive. Kershaw wears a blue sleeveless T-shirt that reads: "You can do better." He drops the mat in the middle of the room and starts doing situps.

Later, Kershaw and Trout come together for a brief photo shoot. The photographer wants Kershaw to hold a cupcake with a birthday candle that Trout will blow out. Kershaw is game, but Trout nixes the idea. "I'd rather not," he says.

Instead, two of the best young players the game has ever seen stand side by side. Kershaw holds a clean white ball, Trout a bat. They smile. They glare. They laugh. They pose. They can say whatever they want, but they both get it. They know this is a moment.

Maybe someday they'll look back on this portrait and laugh at how much they thought they knew and how little they actually did. Maybe they'll remember what it felt like to be so good so young.

For now, they shake hands and say goodbye. Trout goes to call his folks. Kershaw has another lineup to study.

Wayne Drehs is a senior writer for ESPN.com. He can be reached at wayne.drehs@espn.com. Follow him on Twitter: @espnWD.

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