I could smell the same deep green of summer

I have a friend who has complained about how many writers (as well as Ken Burns) have romanticized baseball and its past.

Well, forgive me, for I also tend to romanticize the sport, especially the game during the years of my childhood and adolescence.

I can’t overemphasize how important baseball was to me growing up. So many nights were spent lying in my bed late into the night listening to far away games – when the sun went down, I could hear the Yankees, Mets, Phillies, Senators, Orioles, Reds and on a good night, the Cubs, White Sox and the Cardinals with Haray Caray, on my little transistor.

Very few games were on TV then – we were limited to the NBC Game of the Week on Saturday afternoons – so would rely on the radio play-by-play broadcasters to paint pictures in my mind with words. I learned about geography and time zones by looking at maps to see where teams were located, and I also quickly realized that my mom didn’t like me staying up late for that 11 p.m. start time of the Yankees-Angels game.

A rapidly-fading Mickey Mantle was my hero, and I vividly remember one summer night when a hobbling Mantle hit a pinch HR to win a game. I ran screaming downstairs that “Mickey did it! Mickey did it!” I was quickly sent back upstairs where I happily drifted off to sleep so I could wake up and hope for the same outcome the next day.

Of course, this being the mid-60s, the Yankees instead often provided nightmares while continually disappointing an innocent little boy – a little boy, who once he learned to read, constantly entertained himself with stories of Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Berra and past Yankees dominance.

Even then, nostalgia played a major role in my life.

Of course, I tried to play the game as well, with not much success. Little league, teen leagues, and even adult leagues. Yes, the Hughesville Travelers and Picture Rocks Rockets still hold a place in my heart.

But memories of playing don’t compare to the pleasures for a 9-year-old on a rainy summer afternoon and keeping score by listening to By Saam, Bill Campbell and Richie Ashburn during a Phillies-Cardinals game on WILK.

I sometimes wonder what my kids' passions will be as they get a little older. Sadly, I’m sure it won’t be baseball.

For me, rock and roll began to take precedence as I got older, but few things make me happier than when some of my worlds collide.

Bruce Springstone -- "Take Me Out to The Ball Game"