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 sandlot my home away
from home as a kid.
