Beisbol been berry berry good to me

Me, too, though I haven’t actually seen a game in years. We were in Cooperstown last weekend, and in Doubleday Stadium there was game going on, what looked like a fantasy camp, and even at that level (or especially at that level), it was tremendous fun to watch. Just some grown (some way past grown) men getting out into the burning late June sun to play a boy’s game. It was a delight to try to explain the game to my girls — the rules, the scoring, the insults. I don’t know if I’ve ever spent a more pleasant hour on a summer afternoon.
We had just come through the Hall of Fame, which is wonderful. We didn’t get to take much in, just a quick whip through the displays and a multi-media impression of baseball that actually choked me up, remembering summer evenings when we played in the schoolyard until the fireflies were out, and then even a little later if we could get away with it. Screaming down the street to our parents that we couldn’t come home yet, we were up next. Or playing in the street right in front of our houses, or just down on the corner, where the four storm sewers and the manhole cover in the middle made a neat if very little diamond. The little show in the Hall actually captured that and for a second I was swept away with it.
And so now my girls and I play a little baseball, and it’s a wonderful time.

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