Ah, Little League. The days when playing sports was still just for fun, when the field was small but dreams were vast.
I took a stroll down memory lane today at the tail end of a 5.1 mile run. I had parked up the street from Oliveria Park, my Little League field in Lowell, and something caused me to walk down the Newhall Street hill to the park.
Not sure why, but I was drawn to the field. During the run I ran by several empty baseball fields and basketball courts. It wasn't always that way. When I played Little League, from 1975-77, a bunch of us from the Sacred Heart neighborhood were always together. Playing basketball on courts across the city. Hitting tennis balls at Shedd Park. Staging football games at O'Donnell Field. Playing street hockey in the parking lot behind Fay Funeral Home.
Fields and courts were often jammed.
Oliveria holds so many memories. I didn't realize how many until I visited the field for the first time in probably 20 years.
It's where ...
- I was shaking in the batter's box every time I faced Michael "Rocky" Rawnsley. The left-hander went on to play hockey at UMass Lowell and be inducted into the Lowell High Hall of Fame. I didn't see any of Rocky's pitches. Think I heard a couple whiz past.
- I took a home run away from a batter in left center with a lucky catch.
- Billy Caunter dominated my last year in Little League. He was the biggest kid. He was the fastest kid. In 1977, if he played 15 games, there was no way Billy made more than three outs. He was a man among boys.
- My father took about 10 neighborhood kids one summer night. We played ball for an hour or two and then my father, a left-handed hitter, asked to hit. He ended the night by smoking 30 or so balls into a mill building beyond the right field fence. My friends were amazed at how far the balls travelled. My brother Tommy and I were mad our stash of balls was gone.
- The yells of "brook ball" could be heard streets over. Behind the field ran a brook. When a foul ball went over the fence, normally along the first base line, kids yelled "brook ball" and raced between cracks in the fence to retrieve the ball before it splashed into the brook and got ruined. We weren't wealthy. Every ball was precious.
I'm glad I grew up before video games. I'm glad I grew up in a time when parents weren't afraid to let their kids head to the park. I'm glad we had Oliveria Park.
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