I remember that also, some days it was so bad that we played with rocks, we always had enough rocks on the field. But playing with rocks really destroyed those wooden bats.
We also exchanged gloves with the opposing team, had maybe two or three bats, and again one baseball that was used over and over. I also remember that black tape, and I also remember a ball that became a real dud after so much play.
When we had a chance to play with a new ball, a live one, it was quite an experience. But life was easy back then, you got up in the morning, and played baseball all day long, stopping long enough to go down to the corner deli to pick up some bologna and bread for lunch.
You drank water from the stream, and washed your hands and wiped the sweat off of your face, and then dried those hands off on your pants. You returned home in the evening, or when the rules were made that it became so dark that you could not see the ball.
There was never a phone for anyone, you met at the ball field, and from there all communication was known and understood throughout the neighborhood. We all cheered when the big ditch was filled in years later, so many balls were lost in that ditch, and in the sewer pipe. Then there was the Parkway, and that occasional fly ball that landed on the road and just missed the car. We would all run and hide in the woods, and wait until the excitement died down. Then when you looked for the ball it would become a mystery as to where it finally ended up.
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