Well it’s that time of year again. Kids are cramming to finish, or start, their Summer reading assignments. Parents are quietly looking forward to their kids getting back to school and into a daily routine. Summer is winding down. Oh, and if you are from Central Pennsylvania there is that small sporting event called the Little League World Series.

Since I was a kid decades ago in Upstate New York, some things have changed and some things have not. Back then it was pin-striped shorts, knee socks, and a beat up old glove that was likely a hand-me-down from your big brother. Because I’m a lefty I needed new so my mom bought me a Reggie Jackson Rawlings. It had nothing to do with an affinity for Reggie, although he certainly was one of the greats. It just happened to be the one in the store that fit me at the time.

Very few kids owned their own bats and helmets, either. My team had a community bag that was an old Army duffle. I sometimes used what was probably one of the first metal bats ever made that had more dents than a soda can used for target practice and felt like it weighed 30 pounds. The umps let almost anything go when it came to equipment, though I did get called out once on a wooden bat I tried to use in a game that was cracked all the way through and held together with electrical tape.

One of my very first new bats was a Fred Lynn Louisville Slugger. The thing was a beast and I still have it. In fact, my 14 year-old son still hits off a tee with it in training because it is so stinking heavy and the grip is super wide. Using it was, and still is, an adventure.

Ah, the fields. Talk about rough. When I say rough, I mean like a tilled corn field baked in the sun. I cannot believe no-one on my team ever broke an ankle. Bases were screwed into the ground with metal spikes. I guess safety wasn’t really a thing back then.

The coach was usually a player’s dad who, if you were lucky, played some high school ball. Instruction was very limited during the season and was non-existent in the off-season. There were no sports academies, there was no year-round training unless you count pick up whiffle ball in my back yard. Back then the snow drifts in the winter were higher than your roof line, Spring thaw was late in the year, and you were lucky if your season started on time.

These days it is not unusual to see 12 year-olds with two $350 bats, the latest Under Armour dri-fit training shirt, pants, and helmet and a glove made from genetically engineered baby rhino hide. Ok, the last one might not be exactly accurate but you get the point. Parents are shelling out big bucks for kids to play sports these days. Many of whom might not even play in high school. There are year-round training camps and facilities, speed coaches, personal trainers, sport psychologists, and so on…

Some things never change, however. Kids still dream of crushing a fast ball over the center field fence with the bases loaded to win the big game. Kids still love the feel of the ball hitting their glove during a one hop hit to short, of sliding in the grass during the perfect diving catch of a fly ball, and of the dirt on their hip in a successful slide home. The best moments are still eating an ice cream cone and reliving all the big plays of a game with team-mates, friends, and family. Baseball takes all of us back to a time of innocence. A time of joy and fun that is pure. It doesn’t get much better that hot Summer days, hot dogs, and the cheer of the crowd. Some things do not change in one of the greatest sports ever invented, nor should they.