I remember baseball. I remember summers with a glove on my bicycle's handlebar awaiting the next game. I remember my dad helping to raise money so we could have our own Little League field. I remember worn-out sneakers, repaired wooden bats and taped balls.
I remember Shibe Park and Robin Roberts pitching. I remember Forbes Field and Ralph Kiner hitting. I remember Bobby Thomson's home run and Don Larsen's perfect game.
I remember supporting the Angels through thick and thin (mostly thin), from the time that they arrived in Anaheim. I remember the excitement of a division championship.
I remember my disgust in 1981. I remember not renewing my treasured season tickets. I remember my decision to never pay to see another baseball game.
Now I spend my season ticket money playing golf, eating out (no cold hot dogs, thank you), going to shows and traveling.
I remember baseball. It was a game. It was fun.