BASEBALL

Baseball was once known as “America's National Pastime” and was played, in some form, on every playground in the land, even if the playground was a street, first base was the fire hydrant, the bat was a broomstick handle and the ball was a “spaldeen.” I remember listening to the games (we had no TV) on the radio and then hopping on my bike to get to the nearest school playground for a pick up game. If we got there and there weren't enough guys for two full teams, we might “designate” a pitcher for both sides or use one outfielder so that the batter had to “call his field” and, if we hit the ball elsewhere, it was an out. The Pro's were our heroes. We collected the trading cards from packs of bubble gum, kept them in shoe boxes and flipped them when we had doubles that we weren't afraid to gamble away. Growing up in the North East, smack dab in between Yankee Territory and Red Sox land, I had more heroes than I could shake a stick at. My favorite player was Jimmy Piersall, the Boston Center Fielder who suffered from mental illness and was the subject of the book (which I read when it came out) and the movie (which I still watch whenever it is on) starring Tony Perkins, “Fear Strikes Out.” When he wasn't squirting a water pistol on home plate he was making amazing plays in the outfield. Years later, after he had become a wonderful announcer for the Chicago White Sox, a friend, who knew I was a fan, met him at a sports memorabilia show and had him autograph a picture for me. I still have it. Getting a Mickey Mantle rookie card in a pack of gum was almost impossible, so, if you ever found yourself in the enviable position of finding one, you held on to it for dear life. I traded a shoe box full of cards for the Mickey Mantle card and........someone stole it. I was livid and devastated at the same time. Baseball was not only the “National Pastime,” but, it was an integral part of our lives. Mantle, Maris and Mays were who we wanted to grow up to be and we played every day and in every weather condition. We knew that if it was too cold outside, the bat could hurt our hands if we hit the ball wrong, but, we didn't care. My love for the game began to wane when the leagues started to expand as did the players. What used to be 2 leagues with 7 teams in each league became leagues and divisions and territories and the players found steroids and each one had to be bigger and stronger than the next guy so he could hit more home runs. As far as I'm concerned, the whole sport became nothing but a 'roided out version of Home Run Derby. To my way of thinking, the true Home Run Kings will always be Henry Aaron and Babe Ruth. Anyone who came after (yes, I'm referring to you, Mark McGuire) should be no more than an asterisk in the record books. As baseball began to lose it's luster, football made it's strides with the rooting public, to take over the top rung on the favorite sport ladder and, eventually, all kids, all over the country became soccer players. Soccer Mom's became the norm as opposed to Dad coaching the little league team. This is why I stay away from baseball these days. There is, however, one very notable exception. Each year, boys from all over the globe congregate in Williamsport, Pa. For the Little League World Series. For the year leading up to the actual series, teams across the land battle it out for that coveted spot at the top of the heap where they will face the team from some other country who had to go through the same process with teams from other lands, to see who will be the world champions. This year it was Chula Vista, Ca. and the team from Japan. Japan won on a double play in the bottom of the 6th and final inning. The final score was 6-4 and it was very exciting baseball. This is a TRUE world series, and the kids are playing PURE baseball, devoid of all the dirt and juice and money that can sully what once was the greatest game on earth. I will never stop watching and loving the Little League World Series, because, it will always take me back to a better time. A time when our biggest issue was whether your bike would get you to the field in time for the “pick-up” to begin so you'd be on the “right” team. We played the baseball with every bit of emotion and dedication we could muster up and we did it for the same reason Little Leaguers still do to this day......for the love of the game.