One Photo; One Story: Empty Fields

Lately, I’ve noticed the loneliness of empty fields. In the course of my every day travels I pass and look at the empty fields of youth.

These empty fields once roared with cheers when a ball made it’s way onto the gap. Teammates jumped when a friend kept the inning alive.

I see these empty fields where children would run and play. Hours would fly, as the game grew intense.

These empty fields were sandlots and ballparks that could be Yankee Stadium and one was Mickey Mantle as they dug into bat.

These empty fields were where dads played in the summer beer league and the varsity would practice. Game after game the field was packed.

These empty fields had pick up games where EVERY kid would play, once there was a short stop with leg braces and the field was filled with joy.

When the organized games were done, we played and supervised ourselves calling balls and strikes. Whoever manned the bases would umpire and when the dust settled over a call they’d yell “play ball”.

These empty fields were full from the first warmth of spring until the frost of winter.

On the rainy days we would watch the big league box scores and scour the Sunday paper for our favorite players. We had the radio and TV to help us dream. Perhaps one day hear our names….

Now batting for the New York Yankees….ME.

We cheered each other on and worked out our differences. Moms were never worried when we were at the ball field now these fields are empty.

We played in leagues we played in neighborhoods on grass, lots and dirt. We wore fancy uniforms and dirty blue jeans. We oiled our gloves and shared our equipment with those would didn’t have their own.

At dusk we played just a little more and the field would empty, in the morning we’d play again.

It was the sweet endless cycle of summer and baseball.

Nowadays I drive by and I look and see these empty fields waiting for a game.