For the love of the game

 I was just seven years old, too young to play baseball with my older brother and his friends, but I would sit on the porch and watch, dreaming of the day I could join them on the field—a patch of grass worn down by years of play. Sometimes, Dad would pitch a few balls to me and show me how to hold the bat while my little sister chased down the balls and returned them to Dad.

When I was eleven, I tried out for the summer city youth team and made it. We practiced at the high school field every day except Sundays, with games on Saturdays under the lights. I remember Mom, Dad, and my sisters sitting in the bleachers, cheering me on as I took my position in left field. The coach believed I would excel there because I was fast and had a strong throw.

The thing about being an outfielder was that everything looked so small from out there. I was often alone, keeping my eyes wide open to hear the crack of the bat. When I heard it, I sprang into action, shielding my eyes from the lights as I rushed to meet the ball as it hit the ground just a few feet away. Without thinking, I threw the ball to the first baseman at record-breaking speed. He caught it and tagged the runner out. I saw the crowd stand and cheer, and I knew my family was among them, even though they were far away.

When it was time for me to bat, I kicked up a little dust as I prepared myself for a fastball, which the pitcher was known for. He took his stance, looking at the catcher who signaled him, and before I could take a breath, he released the ball. I swung almost simultaneously. The crack of the bat stung my hands a bit as I sprinted toward first base, running faster than ever before.

I miss those days of summer leagues and everything that went along with them: the uniforms we wore, the hotdog vendor, and the peanuts in a paper bag, all under the lights. Out there, I was on my own, ready for anything coming my way. Now I take my grandkids out on the homemade diamond and show them how to bat and throw, just as my dad taught me. I wonder how many kids ran those bases, how many went on to become real players on real teams. and those who loved the game just as much as I did.

Mike 2025