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“Spring Training Baseball Throughout the Decades” Photo Gallery
Click on any image below to see photos in full size and to start Photo Gallery:
“Welcome Back Baseball!”
Scroll below to read an original composition by one of our readers, Paul Doyle. It’s titled “Happy Opening Day.” But before you do, here’s a little introduction to put us in the right frame of mind:
We’ve endured a long, grueling winter that’s apparently not over yet, not by “a long shot” (or even as long as a blast off the bat of the great Bambino himself!).
But as we start to hear the wonderful sound of the crack of the ball on the bat, and as we hear our favorite words, “Pitchers and Catchers report!” we know baseball is “back in the air” with the opening of spring training camps this week.
And just to set the mood for us, here’s a nice little piece written by one of our readers, Paul Doyle. I’ve gotten to know Paul recently, mainly because of the clever comments he leaves on many of my posts. I asked him if he’d like to contribute with a guest post.
Paul was happy to take me up on my offer and rewarded me with the beautiful little piece below which I’m calling an original “Ode to Baseball.” The theme is that of a 10-year old boy reflecting on the only world he really knows and loves: the world of baseball. For most of us, by the age of 10, our life-long love affair with baseball was already solidly entrenched into our psyches, so we well know what Paul means here.
In the featured photo above, we see a beautiful scene from a Cub Spring Training camp in Arizona, 1956. It’s one of my favorites for this time of year. For those of us in the northern climes, it should put us in the right mood and warm up our hearts just a bit!
Paul first penned this piece 36 years ago right after the birth of his first child. Not surprising, he had some interesting thoughts to go along with that fond memory: “It was a time of reflection of how fast time goes by and how generational the game is, being passed on from one generation to the next.” I think we can all relate to that sentiment.
A Massachusetts native who now lives in Milford, New Hampshire, Paul describes himself as a life-long Red Sox fan who attended his first Red Sox game 59 years ago. That happened to be Ted Williams’ last year in the majors. As Paul recalls, “Ted played in the first game of a doubleheader against the Tigers on July 31, 1960. Saw him hit a home run, which was one of his last 10 or so of his career.”
I think Paul’s piece has a nice poetic ring to it. That’s very refreshing, coming amidst the thousands of words of baseball prose on our web site!
So here’s Paul’s original composition. I think you’ll enjoy it, as we gladly welcome baseball back into our lives for yet another season:
Happy Opening Day!
There was no plausible reason why God invented winter, thought the boy, unless it was some sort of preview of purgatory. He always felt a sadness after the last out of the World Series and like the autumn leaves, knew it was a harbinger of the coming cold.
Cold turned colder and with it the depths of winter snowfall, where he started to wonder how it was going to be possible to see the bare ground before the Fourth of July fireworks. Then, mysteriously, the days became longer. The snow gradually went away as if some magic wand was being waved.
The poet had said that in Spring a young man’s fancy turned to love. But to the young boy, love was some mushy thing that adults talked about because they didn’t know Pete Runnels lifetime batting average. Baseball was the only love a 10-year old could understand.
At that age, the problems of the world are more than one can understand, or worse, do anything about. Baseball, however, could be analyzed more closely by the 10-year-old mind and nurtured into a science that was more interesting than anything that was taught in a book.
Those first reports out of esoteric spots such as Scottsdale, Arizona, or Winter Haven, Florida really meant Spring was close by. So what if it usually coincided with a fierce late winter snowstorm. Optimism flowed as the newspapers showed pictures of Drysdale and Koufax throwing batting practice, picking up baseballs from a shopping cart.
The boy had no understanding of Darwin’s theory to know the young phee-nom hitting .400 with 10 homers and 30 RBI in spring training would be back down to Louisville by mid-May with a sprained neck watching major league curveballs plop with ease into the catchers mitt.
The passing of age treats one’s view of the game as hardening of the arteries does to the heart. You know the damn thing was much better when you were young. One can remember how the “old timers” turned up their noses when the likes of Mays and Mantle were compared to the stars of the past eras.
Now, the youngster of 50 years ago, whose dream of playing second base for the Red Sox has faded forever, snickers when .255 lifetime hitters sign multi-years pacts worth millions. Which is why the game shall remain eternal.
The grown up adult shall remember fondly those days of youth when Don Schwall’s winning streak or Don Buddin’s error streak were things of great concern. Today, the eternal refrain of Spring will be heard once again and millions of “10-year-olds”, no matter what their chronological age, will become dreamers again. Play Ball!
-Paul Doyle
(posted by Gary Livacari)
Photo Credits: All from Google search
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