Published: June 17, 2009 11:27 pm      

MARK MAYNARD: Giving sandlot a chance 061809

Growing up in Ashland during the 1960s and 1970s, being involved in organized youth sports wasn’t the only way to participate.

We all had our sandlots, a makeshift field that was good for baseball in the summer and football in the fall.

I took more swings and scored more touchdowns at those places than I did in any organized league.

Our driveways included basketball goals, at least the good ones anyway. Sometimes there’d even be a spotlight attached to the garage. Night games. Ahh ... nothing better.

That’s where you learned to play. That’s where you learned to win and learned to lose.

That’s what we did.

If there were only four of us around on a hot summer day, it was off to play Whiffle ball in the Estep’s side yard. Double-or-nothing was the game. The place had more quirks than Fenway Park. Ground rules were important, too. If you hit one in the big pine tree and the ball weaved its way through, the opponent could still catch it for an out — if he was patient and quick-footed enough.

We’d not only keep score, we’d keep statistics and standings (Is it any wonder why I became a sportswriter later in life?).

The short bushes that lined the Estep’s yard served as the perfect fence for a bunch of young boys. The bushes were short enough that you could reach over and steal a home run as we pretended to be our favorite Cincinnati Red that day.

What do kids do today?

I drove around Ashland the other day looking for outside action. Maybe a Whiffle ball game. Or even a couple of guys throwing baseball.

There was nothing.

It was a picturesque day. Not too hot, not too cold.

I tell you, there was nothing.

The sandlots of my day are gone. Stafford’s Field has a couple of houses on it now and has had for several years. But I still look at that corner lot as a life shrine. Few places carry more memories.

In my mind’s eye, the big tree along the corner of Gartin and Blackburn Avenue is still standing proud. It was the center field fence for baseball and one of the goal lines for football. If you hit one into the tree, it was a home run. I’m not sure I ever did but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

I’m not sure how we didn’t knock out every window in the house across the street that happened to be in foul territory behind third base. We also somehow avoided oncoming traffic, as best I can remember anyway.

When it was football season, Saturdays and Sundays were when the games would be played. Sandlot football is tough football. My usual neighborhood gang included kids my brother’s age, and he was three years older than me. Those guys took me in and taught me, but expected me to do my part when another neighborhood gang came challenging us. We had our moments.

During the winter, we’d play basketball on the outside courts and driveways from after school until it became too dark to shoot. It was mostly 2-on-2 games. There would be the occasional temper flareup, but mostly it was just good basketball.

My point is, every sport had a season and it didn’t have to be an organized season.

The sandlots were our training ground. We didn’t blame the refs when we lost because we didn’t have any refs to blame. Parents weren’t part of the process. We were playing for ourselves, not through our parents. It was something to do and we loved doing it.

We had our youth league coaches and they were good. They were men who taught the game well, men who cared what happened when the game was over.

When the organized sports were finished for the season, it was on to the next sport because, back in the day, each sport actually had a season.

That’s not life in today’s youth sports world. AAU basketball dominates the landscape. It has pushed baseball practically out of the picture. Soccer, which was never a thought in the 1960s and 70s, takes it share, too.

We are so organized that athletes are made to choose a sport before they turn 12. Instead of trying them all, they make one their passion for fear of being left behind. Who knows what the future may have held in other sports for them. But because they don’t play other sports — organized, sandlot or anything else — we may never know.

When it’s all said and done, life is too short. Encourage your young athlete to play them all. Engage him in a 2-on-2 Whiffle ball game in the side yard with some buddies. Make up your own ground rules. Announce the starting lineup.

You might find that little boy in you, too.

MARK MAYNARD can be reached at mmaynard@dailyindependent.com or (606) 326-2648.