Play Ball

 I don’t think people who didn’t play baseball or softball understand the love we have for the game. We played as children. We played as teens. We played as adults. We weren’t always good. We remember the times we played well. The big hits. The unexpected spectacular defensive play. You know the one. The ball is hit at you like a rocket. You throw your glove up while wishing permanent damage isn’t done to some part of your body. To the amazement of yourself and your team the ball ends up in your glove. A sure hit becomes a miracle out. We didn’t need 9 kids on our team and 9 on the other team. I think our minimum was four. A pitcher and a fielder. Ghost runners. Closed fields so if you hit it there you were out. Pitchers hand instead of throwing to first base. We would play for hours. I was listening to the radio today and the average child is only outside playing 32 minutes a day.  We played outside because there was nothing to do inside. There were two or three channels on the TV. Afternoon was soap operas. We didn’t want to watch any of those. So Sunday we went to East Peoria to watch Audrey play two games. Her team lost both games. She still had fun. She got a base hit on this pitch. 

After the game what does every kid want to do with their team and coach? Ice Cream! If there is a place like this one you have to go. 

In Field of Dreams there is an exchange between the characters about baseball. Through the years in good times and bad. In war and in peace. There was baseball. It marks our history. As people and as a nation. My friend Mike has the miracle of the ‘69 Mets. My love for the Cardinals goes back to ‘64. Those teams have mark the passing years of our lives. Child, teen, adult and now on the cusp of old age. We watch the games.  Follow the box scores. Always hoping for another World Series championship. Our playing days are over but our love for the game continues. We watch and remember the days when we could make that play or get that timely hit.