The Boys of Summer

These hot summer days remind me of a time spent immersed in the world of baseball. Barely a night goes by that I’m not watching a baseball game. Usually the Yankees game. (side note: Did you know that Abner Doubleday, the man who supposedly invented baseball, was a Civil War Union Army General? …You do now)

My dad was a huge New York Yankees fan and he shared his love of baseball with his five children. He had a scrapbook filled with clippings from Yankees’ games in the 1930s and I loved looking at those old articles.

Every night when the weather was cooperative, we played baseball in our backyard. Now, when I say “backyard”, remember that I lived in the boonies, on a farm, so a backyard baseball field wasn’t such a stretch of the imagination.

So, every night, the Benton clan held a baseball game. If you weren’t batting, you were in the outfield. Dad was the pitcher. The “ballfield” was a part of our yard, beyond the old concrete “fish pond” and past two box elder trees. The other end of the yard–a combination of tall grass, weeds, and berry bushes–was home run territory. I can’t tell you how much time was wasted trying to find a home run ball hidden in the weeds, but suffice it to say, we always had a spare ball or two.

In the 1960s, when I was a kid, girls weren’t allowed in Little League. So the nightly ball game was our only chance to play. I was a lefty, and I remember standing at “home plate” and whacking the ball as hard as I could. Have you ever got a “stinger” when the ball hits a little too close to the end of the bat you’re holding?

Not pleasant.

I remember dad showing us how to hold the bat–trademark side facing up so you didn’t break the bat. I remember oiling the baseball gloves with “neatsfoot oil”. I remember being jealous of my younger brothers when they got to join Little League. Occasionally we would go to Syracuse to watch their AAA team play, and one time we brought along our foreign-exchage sister from Australia–Libby–and introduced her to our passion.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that I got to see a Major League Baseball game in person. I’ve seen games in Yankee Stadium, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and Philadelphia. My favorite place and stadium is probably in Cleveland. Contrary to what you’ve heard, downtown Cleveland is a great place.

Every once in a while I see a bunch of local kids playing a pick-up game of baseball and–in that instant–I am back in that yard, standing at the “plate,” and waiting for the next pitch to come.

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