No pics on this post, so that it can be open to all readers. My five year old grandson and his dad, my son Matt, just got back from spring training in Arizona. They went to two ball games, at which Archie got three real baseballs tossed to him from players running back to the dugout from the field. He got an autographed hat. He got to run the bases after the game was over. Just for good measure, he got to swim in the big hotel pool with the huge slide, and to ride a small train that chugged the perimeter of a nearby playground. And he got a few days for just him and Daddy.
Baseball is a slow game, often criticized as a fading sport in this day of dramatic dunking in basketball and fast-paced soccer goals and bone-crunching football plays. But I love the game, and the emerald green fields, and the fact that my father, Wendell York, was a left pitcher for the Wisconsin Blues, a semi-pro team in the 1940’s. Matt played. I don’t know if Archie will, but I hope they go to spring training every year, carrying on the family tradition.