Randy Smith
There is something both magical and precious about little boys and baseball. If there was ever a game made just for little boys, it would be baseball....our national past time. There is a picture of me as a four-year-old decked out in a baseball uniform and a complete set of catchers' gear. (I called it "hind catcher "as a lot of people still do.) When I was asked at that age what position I wanted to play, I would say either, "hind catcher" or "Yogi"...an obvious reference to the best catcher in baseball in 1955, Yogi Berra.
As my baseball days progressed, catching was no longer my position of choice. I tried pitching but eventually settled on playing first base. I was only an average athlete so my baseball career ended a lot sooner than I wanted it to. Like every other boy, I loved baseball so much I wanted to stay involved in the game any way that I could, and that's exactly what I did. I've been a coach, a reporter, a play-by-play announcer, and even an umpire and that pretty much covers most of my 71 years on this planet.
Baseball gets in your heart and your soul like nothing else. The smell of freshly cut grass, or the smell of popcorn makes you think of baseball. There are few things in life more beautiful than a freshly cut, well manicured baseball field but only when the field is covered by youngsters playing the game. If those youngsters today were like me, they would spend every hour of every day playing baseball or dreaming about it.
My favorite thing to do as a retiree is to watch my grandchildren play baseball or softball. I had only two opportunities to do that this week, but next week there will be at least a half-dozen or more games to attend. With five grandchildren playing sports, you sometimes have to make tough choices about which game do I attend when there is a conflict. Since I've never been able to be two places at one time, (though I've tried many times unsuccessfully) those tough choices are really hard to make.
I can still remember seeing my son, dressed in his Dixie Youth baseball uniform, ready to take the field and play on a beautiful Saturday morning and the same is true for my daughter when she played youth softball as an eight-year-old. Those are memories that I wouldn't trade for a million dollars. Now, both of my children are actively coaching and guiding their children to play and embrace the game just as I did. To all of us, it's more than just a love of the game...it's a passion for it.
My son shared a picture of my grandson Boone this morning when he was four years old, dressed in his New York Yankee uniform from head to toe, with his Yankee cap over his heart as the National Anthem was being played. There is nothing more beautiful or precious than that.
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Randy Smith can be reached at rsmithsports@epbfi.com