I saw one of the saddest things while out on my walkabout today. An empty, run-down baseball field.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not a big baseball fan. To me it always seemed like watching paint dry. That was until my son came along. I loved watching him play when he was in little league. Going to a game with him is one of the joys in my life. I can sit there with him, cheer the game, enjoy the beer and hot dogs and revel in a real moment with him. But to call me anything near a baseball fan would be a lie. I'm amazed and perplexed by friends of mine who can spout stats, players and game details like a religious experience. It's something about sharing the whole thing with Johnny that makes the difference.

OK, so there was the time I chased after the girls softball teams in high school....but that's not about baseball!

There is a big catholic church on my route. To the back of this complex of buildings is what was once a ballfield not relegated to overflow parking. There are still parent-size bleachers and benches for two teams. The field is browned and patched with dirt where motor oil has polluted the soil. The benches are warped broken. You have to look through dense foliage to see the remnants of the bleachers. The first time I realized what it had been I stopped in my tracks; something about the loneliness of it made me sad. As the wind blew through the trees you could almost hear the echoes of cheering children. As the breeze rustled the leaves on the branches their shadows played across the ground the same way parents waving arms did years ago.

I tried to picture how many games had been played there. How many teams went home victorious, how many didn't and how the players lives were shaped by playing. Did they learn the lessons of good sportsmanship? Were there involved parents there paying rapt attention to every move their child made or were there those who were just "making time"?

The biggest question was why was the lot abandoned? Was it as simple as the church needing the space? Did the child population grow up and out of the neighborhood? Did they get a better field to use? Somehow I can't imagine any ballfield going unused. Wouldn't a kid rather play somewhere the parents didn't want him to be rather than a sanctioned one? There's something a little more fun it that!

There must be some good stories in the dirt there. Everytime I walk through I wait to hear the crack of a bat. Everytime I don't hear it I get a little sad.

Imagine how I'd feel if I were a baseball fan?!