Great Voices Are Leaving
For many rural midwestern kids, baseball is played on clumps of mud and fenceless fields. It is game of worn, muddy balls and cracked wooden bats. It is Tigers vs. Twins or Cubs vs. Cardinals in rough-looking affairs, including tatered uniforms that have no rythym of color and hats that are sponsored by Bob's Gas Station or Tom's Automotive. Fashion and matching colors are the farthest thing from these little leaguers minds. Instead, they dream of walking into Yankee Stadium, Fenway Park or Wrigley Field, visualizing a 3-2 count with the bases jammed and the crack of the bat that gets the mud flying and feet pedaling in all directions. Then, before they cross home plate in their dreams, they snap to it in time to connect during their Little League game. As one of those games ended in my youth and my (Little League) Tigers won - that is how I always remember it- I headed home anxiously to try and pick up the big league Tigers on WJR radio. Sometimes, it worked, usually after 7 p