Last week I did something special for myself: went to a night game to watch the local Albuquerque Isotopes minor league baseball team play the Nashville Sounds.
I’ve lived in the Albuquerque area 18 years intending each summer to go to a ballgame, but this is my first.
I say going to this local baseball game was something special for me because it brought back vivid memories, quite unexpected, of a time in Oakland, CA., in the 1950s, when I was about ten, when my Dad took me for a day of baseball to watch the old Oakland A’s.
Who but a boy, hungry for time alone with a busy, upwardly mobile father, could discover Heaven’s main course is a ballpark hotdog and a vendor’s thrown bag of peanuts?
It all came back to me, sitting on the right field line, hearing the crack of the bat and eating my hot dog smothered in mustard and relish.
Someone I once read said: “Your bliss is not so much a matter of what you’re doing, but how much of you is doing it.”
All of me was in that game that night at Isotope Park in Albuquerque. And it was, indeed, a moment of rare bliss.
TEMPLE OF LOST YESTERDAYS
Man-Child, hungry for Absentee Dad,
Finds his ‘Boy of Spring’ at crack of a bat,
Strong voice and hand long-gone
In ballpark hot dog smothered in relish.
Taste buds of the heart savor Day of Days,
When Boy and Dad were Green Field
Mowed to Perfection.
Under floodlights, eating peanuts,
In the Temple of Lost Yesterdays,
Man is boy again –
Father and Son–
Shouting, “Batta, batta, batta! Play Ball!!!”
Joseph Harvill, publisher Great Scots Magazine