James, reading your post felt like catching a fly ball I didn’t know was coming—pure reflex joy.
Your mother teaching you to read a box score, your father squatting in the backyard with his catcher’s mitt and his beer, the Pizza Supreme game that old men in McLean still invoke in hushed tones—this is baseball as it was meant to be lived. Not just watched. Inhabited.
I came to it the same way. Little League, Pony League, Legion ball in a small North Carolina town where the major leagues might as well have been on the moon. No big newspaper, no TV station worth the name. Every morning I’d call the local paper just to get the scores—Cubs and Red Sox, my two chosen instruments of heartbreak.
And yes, I chose them both. Voluntarily.
That’s the thing about baseball that separates it from every other sport. You don’t have to be 7 feet tall or weigh 300 pounds. You just have to run like the wind and keep your eye on the ball—things every kid on every playground already believes he can do. The game invites you in at age seven and never quite lets you go.
I’ve sat in Wrigley Field on a warm spring afternoon, slight breeze off the lake, grass impossibly green, my Cubbies actually winning. I’ve been in nearly every major league park this country has. And in 2004, after a lifetime of Red Sox purgatory, I watched them come back from 3-1 against the Yankees—the Yankees—and then sweep the Cardinals in four. I wept. I’m not embarrassed to say it.
You asked whether baseball was better back then. I don’t know either. But I know what you mean. One-dollar Knothole Club tickets. The organ. Frank Howard actually having to earn a home run. The slowball.
Maybe it’s less about better and more about before—before we knew how it would go, before the heartbreaks had accumulated, when every April still felt like the year it was all going to turn around.
Keith, thanks so much for reading. Your reply is much more elegant than my article! And wait, you CHOSE both the Cubbies and Red Sox? That's gluttony for punishment of an epic level. But yes, you got your redemption. I remember being in Kennedy Airport in 2004. One of the shops was selling T-shirts that said, "OK there was no curse. You just sucked for 84 years".
No, thank you. I was thrilled to read your piece, it’s that time of year and I loved what you had to say. I don’t go to many Braves games anymore, Braves fans are not very savvy baseball fans, with no idea how to watch or appreciate the game. It isn’t like sitting in Fenway or Wrigley where people actually appreciate and respect the game. Anyway, thanks for this, James, and looking forward to that first pitch this year!
Pizza Supreme, yeah. They were still talking about them, even across the river in MoCo, even when I started pee wee baseball in 1974. I never knew you were the Pizza Supreme Slayer, though. I tip my cap to you, sir.
Yeah, not surprised you guys across the river knew the lore. Kinda like Ruth calling his shot, or Carl Hubbell striking out Ruth and Gehrig in the All-Star game. It's my legacy.
Great stories Jim! And I didn’t know your mom was the baseball fan in your family. My dad was a Senators fan but I don’t know how many games he went to.
Thanks Nancy. My Mom was a superfan and I always wondered if Bob and Bill were as well. I know your Dad played football at some point, then lacrosse before lacrosse was cool.
Fun story for me as I had a very similar experience, a star pitcher at 9/10 because I could throw a strike. I played for Arden Jewelry back when costume jewelry was a major Rhode Island industry. Perhaps it still is. Internet says Arden Jewelry still exists.
You brought it all back, right down to the Sno-Cone. I was a sandlot guy for the most part back then. If you've ever seen the 1993 film The Sandlot, it could have been a documentary about the games we played. Like the guys in the film, the summer of '62 guys I played with were classmates from our elementary school in the heyday of post-war, baby-boom, suburban life on Long Island. Some were so talented at sandlot they seemed born to the game. Some never quite got the hang of it. I was in the latter group, the Scotty Smalls of the team, destined for distance running as the default sport for those who were incapable of any other.
Thanks Bob. Yes, my "prowess" in team sports also led me inevitably to distance running. But those were great times. I remember hearing Yogi Berra or someone scoff at Little League. "Little League? Where you get 4 at-bats a week? We got 50 at bats a day on the sandlots." Thanks for reading.
Sorry I wasn't quite conscious yet for the Pizza Supreme game. I do remember watching you in a red and gray uniform. Providence Savings and Loan?
I played one season, when I was 8, for Kings Manor Townhouses. We won 2 games--one of them by forfeit. I had a perfect no-hitter season; that is, I had no hits. But I had one proud moment. At third base I fielded a choppy grounder and one-hopped it to first for the out.
Great story, Jim. It brought back fond memories of the friendships I made playing Little League — and a few less fond ones of my less-than-stellar career at third base. A changeup and a slow ball? Wow, I’m impressed!
Loved this, Jim. I can just see you out there. Favorite Lines Dep’t.: “My meat and potatoes pitch was the slow ball. This pitch behaves much like a fast ball, but it’s much slower.”🤣🤣
That's amazing! I don't ever remember seeing that article! Was Paul "diminutive"?? I absolutely DO remember that he pitched both of our wins. That was a great experience. We were a couple of plays away from being 3-3 or even 4-2. Woulda shoulda!!
James, reading your post felt like catching a fly ball I didn’t know was coming—pure reflex joy.
Your mother teaching you to read a box score, your father squatting in the backyard with his catcher’s mitt and his beer, the Pizza Supreme game that old men in McLean still invoke in hushed tones—this is baseball as it was meant to be lived. Not just watched. Inhabited.
I came to it the same way. Little League, Pony League, Legion ball in a small North Carolina town where the major leagues might as well have been on the moon. No big newspaper, no TV station worth the name. Every morning I’d call the local paper just to get the scores—Cubs and Red Sox, my two chosen instruments of heartbreak.
And yes, I chose them both. Voluntarily.
That’s the thing about baseball that separates it from every other sport. You don’t have to be 7 feet tall or weigh 300 pounds. You just have to run like the wind and keep your eye on the ball—things every kid on every playground already believes he can do. The game invites you in at age seven and never quite lets you go.
I’ve sat in Wrigley Field on a warm spring afternoon, slight breeze off the lake, grass impossibly green, my Cubbies actually winning. I’ve been in nearly every major league park this country has. And in 2004, after a lifetime of Red Sox purgatory, I watched them come back from 3-1 against the Yankees—the Yankees—and then sweep the Cardinals in four. I wept. I’m not embarrassed to say it.
You asked whether baseball was better back then. I don’t know either. But I know what you mean. One-dollar Knothole Club tickets. The organ. Frank Howard actually having to earn a home run. The slowball.
Maybe it’s less about better and more about before—before we knew how it would go, before the heartbreaks had accumulated, when every April still felt like the year it was all going to turn around.
Maybe this is our year.
Keith, thanks so much for reading. Your reply is much more elegant than my article! And wait, you CHOSE both the Cubbies and Red Sox? That's gluttony for punishment of an epic level. But yes, you got your redemption. I remember being in Kennedy Airport in 2004. One of the shops was selling T-shirts that said, "OK there was no curse. You just sucked for 84 years".
No, thank you. I was thrilled to read your piece, it’s that time of year and I loved what you had to say. I don’t go to many Braves games anymore, Braves fans are not very savvy baseball fans, with no idea how to watch or appreciate the game. It isn’t like sitting in Fenway or Wrigley where people actually appreciate and respect the game. Anyway, thanks for this, James, and looking forward to that first pitch this year!
Pizza Supreme, yeah. They were still talking about them, even across the river in MoCo, even when I started pee wee baseball in 1974. I never knew you were the Pizza Supreme Slayer, though. I tip my cap to you, sir.
Yeah, not surprised you guys across the river knew the lore. Kinda like Ruth calling his shot, or Carl Hubbell striking out Ruth and Gehrig in the All-Star game. It's my legacy.
Great stories Jim! And I didn’t know your mom was the baseball fan in your family. My dad was a Senators fan but I don’t know how many games he went to.
Thanks Nancy. My Mom was a superfan and I always wondered if Bob and Bill were as well. I know your Dad played football at some point, then lacrosse before lacrosse was cool.
Fun story for me as I had a very similar experience, a star pitcher at 9/10 because I could throw a strike. I played for Arden Jewelry back when costume jewelry was a major Rhode Island industry. Perhaps it still is. Internet says Arden Jewelry still exists.
Good thing for the Brown track program that you weren't a better pitcher Doug!
Jim,
You brought it all back, right down to the Sno-Cone. I was a sandlot guy for the most part back then. If you've ever seen the 1993 film The Sandlot, it could have been a documentary about the games we played. Like the guys in the film, the summer of '62 guys I played with were classmates from our elementary school in the heyday of post-war, baby-boom, suburban life on Long Island. Some were so talented at sandlot they seemed born to the game. Some never quite got the hang of it. I was in the latter group, the Scotty Smalls of the team, destined for distance running as the default sport for those who were incapable of any other.
Thanks, Bob
Thanks Bob. Yes, my "prowess" in team sports also led me inevitably to distance running. But those were great times. I remember hearing Yogi Berra or someone scoff at Little League. "Little League? Where you get 4 at-bats a week? We got 50 at bats a day on the sandlots." Thanks for reading.
Don’t tell me you didn’t have a spitball.
My mother wouldn't let me.
Sorry I wasn't quite conscious yet for the Pizza Supreme game. I do remember watching you in a red and gray uniform. Providence Savings and Loan?
I played one season, when I was 8, for Kings Manor Townhouses. We won 2 games--one of them by forfeit. I had a perfect no-hitter season; that is, I had no hits. But I had one proud moment. At third base I fielded a choppy grounder and one-hopped it to first for the out.
Yup, that's the Providence uniform in the photo below. And good on you for showing the big arm from third base!
Great story, Jim. It brought back fond memories of the friendships I made playing Little League — and a few less fond ones of my less-than-stellar career at third base. A changeup and a slow ball? Wow, I’m impressed!
Where did you play Little League?
Springfield
Aha. Strong teams!
Loved this, Jim. I can just see you out there. Favorite Lines Dep’t.: “My meat and potatoes pitch was the slow ball. This pitch behaves much like a fast ball, but it’s much slower.”🤣🤣
Thanks Kathy!
… and now I understand the logic in starting “diminutive Spain pitcher Paul Boerema” against The Netherlands! He had the same pitch repertoire!
Read more at: https://www.stripes.com/sports/little-league-ramstein-s-victory-is-no-close-shave-1.23175
Source - Stars and Stripes
That's amazing! I don't ever remember seeing that article! Was Paul "diminutive"?? I absolutely DO remember that he pitched both of our wins. That was a great experience. We were a couple of plays away from being 3-3 or even 4-2. Woulda shoulda!!
You must’ve been his “pitching coach” judging from his explanation in the following article.
https://www.stripes.com/sports/little-league-saudi-team-rolls-to-2-0-with-20-0-win-over-naples-1.22603
Airline employee father?? Jeez, I thought you were his father ...