Baseball is a place where memory gathers...

Poet Donald Hall stated this in a film interview, and if you are anything like me,your fondest memories from growing up involves baseball in one shape or form.Baseball has been around for over 200 years. Soldiers played it during the CivilWar. It is played in parks and playgrounds, streets and alleys, lonely fields and farmer’sfields, prison yards and corporate picnics; baseball appeals to the young and the old. Baseball combines the importance of teamwork and the individual battle between a pitcherand a batter.And baseball endures.My earliest memories of baseball are my earliest memories, period. I can stillremember the phone number of the apartment I lived in in Bellflower, California in the1970’s when I was just a small boy playing my earliest years in Little League. I rememberthat phone number because it was written on my baseball glove in case I ever lost it. Icarried that glove with me everywhere. The park I played ball in was only a block away. The Manager of my first team was a great teacher and made the game a lot of fun. It wasthen that I first fell in love with baseball.I still have the baseball cards from those years, and my Mother still has that oldmitt. Now it’s worn and cracked and the phone number on the mitt is now nothing morethan an ink smudge. But in that glove is a lot of fond memories. That glove carried meout to right field my first year, over to left the following year, and to second base afterthat. It sat lonely on the bench while I was at bat, and that old glove performed equallywell for me in the outfield and infield alike. My family moved away from the suburbs ofLos Angeles, eventually, and I bought a new glove for my growing hand. But the newglove was never as soft and dependable as my first beloved glove.I used to take that old leather glove to Dodger games back then. My aunt hadseason tickets down the first base line. I marveled at the batting skills of Steve Garveyand Ron Cey. I studied Dave Lopes’ techniques as he inched away from the first base baguntil the pitcher committed his pitch to home, and then dashed to second for yet anotherstolen base. Don Sutton pitched mercilessly, striking out the best hitters in baseball. I hadthe opportunity to see Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, Johnny Bench, George Foster, and TomSeaver play when the “Big Red Machine” came to town. The cross-town Angels added tothe excitement with Nolan Ryan’s fastball and Grich’s defensive magic. Baseball wasmagical, and I made sure I watched every televised “Game of the Week.”Then something peculiar happened. I grew up. I discovered the many wonderfulthings that life had to offer. The importance of baseball faded a little. I watched a handfulof games, but baseball became less involved with my daily life, and my fondest memoriesfaded like the ink on my first glove...for a while.Then I returned to baseball, and baseball had endured. The battle between the owners and the players remained the same, and work stoppages had tarnished the shinychrome of baseball’s image. None the less, the game was still there. A new crop ofsuperstars had emerged. Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn proved that there was still a fewclass acts out there. Ripken, McGwire, Sosa, and Barry Bonds showed that impossiblerecords can still be broken, and broken again. The home run erupted once again as alethal weapon, and the Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony still brings tears to the eyes.And the memories gather in a new millennium. Ichiro demonstrated that the long-ballisn’t the only lethal weapon in Baseball. Bret Boone and Curt Schilling have showed usthat sometimes a new venue can create superstars. Arizona and Anaheim reminded us thatthe big boys on the east coast can be dethroned every once in a while. The Red Sox andWhite Sox taught us to believe in miracles rather than curses, and the Angels have learned to spread theirwings. Despite strikes, rumors of strikes, and the avoidance of strikes just before thedeadline, my love for the game has endured. Baseball has endured. And baseball willalways be important to me and my memories, because baseball is a place where thememory gathers.