Spring and Baseball

Last night was the first night I was able to sleep with my windows open. I had the joy of getting that crisp air, not too cold, but cold enough for one comforter to keep you warm enough and having that cool fresh breeze to breath in. The ambiance was completed with the chirping of crickets that were muffled out of the trees rustling and then back in when the wind died down. It was like a call and response of a musical piece between the two.

The permeating night harkened back to realizing the meaning of spring for me in my youth. Baseball was my first sport I loved and still there is nothing else like playing a game of catch or whiffle ball at my older age. We all sensed the warm weather coming and anticipated our first game and it was always about whose yard(s) we would play on. Each yard had its’ own nuances which gave a homerun easier to one part than the other or how we would field a longer section of yard. Nothing was like running away from a yard after getting yelled at for putting a bald spot in the lawn from home plate and the batters boxes. Obviously we just went to another yard and continued where we left off taking whatever we had scrounged up for bases. These bases seemed to change day to day after our parents would have to use them for what they actually were made for.

Each yard really was a different park; Three Rivers, Camden Yards, or Wrigley. One end of the block was National and the other end American. It didn’t matter if we were short a player or two, we had an infinite supply of ghost runners with the names of Mantle, Ruth, Clemente, and Gherig. Our names changed to Griffey, Clark, Thomas and Ripken. Oh how we lost so many balls but it never mattered because one of us would run as fast as we could back to our house to grab one and run right back dead exhausted so we never had to wait. We had Big League Chew and our parents gave us endless supply of freeze pops and Lil’ Hugs to help us recover and sustain our playful intensity.

This daily ritual happened every day during spring and summer, even if we had our Little League game later that day. It didn’t matter. If we ever got a little burnt out on baseball we would change to another ball and play that for the day or go riding our bikes exploring. Whatever we did we ended up sweaty, dirty, and bloodied with a smile on our dusty face ready for dinner. The next day it would be all smiles, jokes, and arguments over if he was really out or not. Or what a play that was and we would all try to top the performance of the previous day.

Spring was simple. Spring was simply heaven.

We never fretted about the fall leaves and fall air. We simply just switched to a football and baptized the yards for football with the first scraped knee and pile on. It still was simple and we just kept heaven going…