Play Ball

One particular stop I always enjoyed was Marion stadium, where he’d resupply the concession stand for the Appalachian League Marion Mets semi-pro farm team. I’d perch on the wooden bleachers while he loaded bags of potato chips into the rack, marveling at the crack of the bat and the PA announcer’s booming voice “Where the stars of tomorrow shine brightly tonight,” he’d intone.

Finally!

Warm weather has made it! Oh, I know — we didn’t have one of the winters of old, with snow past the doorsteps. Still, it sure seemed to be a long, dreary one.

My first hint that we’d survived the doldrums of darkness was just over a month ago. It was still chilly, overcast, with weekends full of gusty winds. But with two words, I knew better days were ahead—opening day. Even as a passive baseball fan, those words bring a sudden rush of euphoria and nostalgia, the excitement of the coming spring along with memories of springs and summers long gone.

My grandfather was the Tom’s Peanut route man for the region, and as a kid I got to ride with him in his grey Chevy panel truck as he made his rounds each summer.

Now, some sixty summers later, I’m once again sporting a Mets baseball cap—thanks to Jim McGregor, one of the players from back in the day. McGregor was a catcher with the Marion Mets and through a series of random connections, he was welcomed back to Marion last Christmas to serve as the Grand Marshal of the town’s Christmas festivities, representing all the players of all the Marion Mets teams. His family joined him for the weekend activities, and by all accounts, they enjoyed it at least as much as I did. Jim’s grandchildren were here too.

I couldn’t help but to put myself in their shoes, remembering my own grandfather, warm summer days filled with peanuts and Cracker Jacks and America’s pastime with our hero. Play ball!