If you toss a baseball against the concrete foundation of your house, it’ll bounce right back to you. I know, because I spent many a summer afternoon doing just that in my hometown of Dongola.

Now, our little town didn’t have football or volleyball, but did have basketball and baseball. Of the two, baseball was my absolute favorite.

Here’s a fun fact: My father, along with three other gentlemen, started Dongola’s first youth baseball league. 

Back in my playing days, the neighboring town of Anna also had a league, and those players even wore uniforms. Can you imagine? Uniforms! 

The only thing that distinguished our Dongola team was matching ballcaps. It wasn’t until I played high school ball that I finally wore a uniform, complete with jersey, pants, and spikes.

But back in the youth baseball league, we played in whatever we had on that day. T-shirts, blue jeans, whatever.

I played third base, and I loved every minute.

A few years back, I shared a story about the fastball pitcher from Hurst/Bush who gave me my first and only baseball scar. But there’s another pitcher I want to tell you about.

This fella hailed from Gorham and, boy, let me tell ya... he brought the heat. If your bat somehow managed to touch his ball, it almost always resulted in a pop fly or an easy grounder.

However, there was this one glorious at-bat that I’ll never forget.

I stepped up to the plate, swung with all my might, and to my amazement, felt the ball rocket off my bat. It blooped between left and center field and rolled clear down to the railroad tracks. I made it all the way to third base with a wide smile on my face. 

That pitcher from Gorham didn't make it to the bigs, but he did spend some time in the farm leagues. Talent like that deserved recognition.

And speaking of recognition, I owe a debt of gratitude to my dad and those other gentlemen, including former pro knuckleballer Bill Ablett, for

working so hard so that we could make summer memories on those fields of dreams.

Back then, my hero was Mickey Mantle. I dreamed of playing professional baseball and wearing number seven just like him. And every time that ball bounced back from the concrete foundation of our old house, I imagined that I was pitching to ol’ Mick. 

And wouldn’t you know it, I struck him out every time. 

Be well. Stay well. Thanks for readin’... 

Francis Pass

P.S. Speaking of iconic players, what do you think about Pete Rose becoming eligible for the Hall of Fame? Do you think he should get in? Now, that’s something to ponder.