The Days of the Sandlot
Sandlot a vacant lot especially used for unorganized sports. It was a
place during my childhood years where I could go and not have a worry on
my mind, except being with my best friends and playing some sandlot ball.
A place where the memories of endless fun and games took place, between
my friends and I. I still hear the voices of neighbors yelling at us
to go home because of the tennis balls we hit against their walls and
windows. The sandlot was better than Turner Field to us. Nothing could
compare to all the times we had there.
It was a small field in between two apartment complexes. The
spray painted lines we drew, the worn out rug squares we used as bases, the
home plate we made out of wood and painted white were all the things we
could do to make this old field our baseball park. But during our endless
games we sure felt like we were playing on a real field.
The rules aren?t exactly like baseball, although things were very
similar. Day after day we never chose a winner. We just played to
satisfy our love for the game, not for bragging rights. Our games
could be played with just four people and sometimes we had games that
were nine on nine, just like the pros.
Every morning I knew the call to meet at the lot was coming. By the
time we all met up, we were all ready to play. Making teams was always a
hassle because everyone always wanted to be on Tommy?s team. So, we all
took turns being on his team and his team usually won. Taking slides into
the run-down grass around the bases, even getting cuts from the pebbles we
missed picking up were all part of the lot. And every time a foot stomped on
home plate, it was a reminder that the sandlot was ours.
By the time lunch time came around we would be covered in sweat
and ready to jump in the pool to cool off. Then we would always have a
pizza delivered to the pool, it was kind of a tradition during the summer.
After a nice long rest there we were back on the lot continuing our games as
if we had nowhere to go. As dusk starts to roll in we still played until
one of us was nailed by a screaming line drive in the head because it was too
dark to see. Usually our game-ending announcement was my friend?s mom,
when I could hear her screaming his name to come home. That was the
cue the game was over for the day. Soon it was just Tommy and I around
and we are always the last to leave. Knowing tomorrow we all would be
back to play again and again.
As I reminisce back on the sandlot, I think back to the days when I
had the most fun. Every day was like a new adventure to be conquered by
my friends and I. The lot after a couple of years was moved down the road
to a new location, by a new group of children in my old neighborhood. They
too, had done a nice job taking care of the field, as I go back to take another
look at what my friends and I had originally started. As I see the kids play
today, I am reminded of the times when we were all children and carefree.
With not a single worry on our little minds except what new toys to buy, the