Organized baseball didn’t come to Carthage, TN until the spring of 1963. That’s the spring I entered my 12th year. Most of my friends were well versed in baseball beforehand. We grew up playing ball in back yards, cow pastures, etc. Some called it “sand lot” baseball. When I say, “organized baseball,” I’m referring to Little League Baseball and Babe Ruth League. My first year of Little League ball was my last and only year. Not that the ball we played before Little League was not “organized.” It was organized alright, but we did the organizing. We scheduled games, chose sides, made the rules, and settled arguments. Our parents were hardly involved at all.
When the first official Little League season opened, we showed up ready to play. It was glorious!
My brothers and I played “backyard” baseball. Each spring I took it upon myself to secure the “official league” baseball. We played ball with one baseball and one bat. When our friends joined us for games, we only needed half a compliment of baseball gloves as gloves were swapped when teams changed sides.
First base lay just beside the garden gate. Second base was located next to the well house. Third base was placed at the back steps. Any ball hit to deep right field ended up in the garden. A home run to deep center field could usually be retrieved from the henhouse. A ball hit sharply to left field would be stopped by the side of the house. (In all the years we played we never broke a window.)
Most of our games ended when darkness fell or we lost the ball. By mid-summer when the weeds and grass had grown tall, a ball hit into the garden was not a good thing. A search would ensue. Sometimes the search would end at dark which meant the ball would soak up the next morning’s dew, or worse yet, it got rained on. As summer progressed the ball got heavier. If the ball was lost and found several times stitches began to break. That called for black tape (of the cloth variety). By summer’s end the ball was bigger, heavier, and black. The games went on.
The first thing I noticed when I joined the Little League team was the coach produced a box which contained a dozen baseballs. That’s right, one dozen! I had never seen so many baseballs. Not only I, but all of my friends, had grown up with a great appreciation for baseballs. At our games, when a ball was hit foul, a dozen or more kids would make a mad dash to retrieve that ball. Usually, it could be turned back in for a snow cone or a soft drink. A high premium was placed on a baseball.
Almost thirty years later, when my sons began to play organized ball, I noticed their teams had five-gallon buckets filled with baseballs. And bats? They had dozens! I am ashamed to admit it, but I knew the world had changed when I forked over $149 to purchase a baseball bat. That’s right, $149 for a metal “stick.” A stick!
I have been informed that the best bats for youth baseball today can cost up to $500. And periodically an expert can come to the park and check the bat to insure it is still “sound.” Cost? A mere $200. I am left to wonder; can a special bat make that much difference in a kid’s performance?
And oh, yes; I attended a Little League game last week. When a ball was hit foul, no one even noticed. An older gentleman finally moseyed over and picked it up. I guess he appreciated a good baseball.
Copyright 2026 by Jack McCall
