It used to be alive each spring and summer, filled with young ball players on their way up and older ones on their way down, each and every one of them wanting the same thing, a chance, just one more chance. Politics, bylaws and development policies to begin with, economics and changing tastes to follow and this old neighborhood ball park is done. I pass it everyday when I go running. I used to be able to imagine the roar of a home town home run and actually smell last night’s popcorn when I ran by. This morning all I heard was the wind in the uncut grass and the faded sound of my own long ago dreams.
Submitted By – Michael Lebowitz
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