Mr. Northrup's in the Field of Dreams, hittin' 'em where they ain't.

Jim Northrup, a hero of my youth, passed away a few days ago, at the age of 71.

He was a ball player.  I was seven years old when he hit the ball over Curt Flood's head for a triple, scoring Horton and Cash, breaking a scoreless tie in game 7 of the '68 world series.  The guy could put a hurtin' on the ball; I think he hit more grand slams than anybody I knew.  He always came to play.

Quite a eulogy for a ball player.

It got me thinking about the nature of the games.  In light of Dallas' victory over the highly touted and apparently overpaid Miami team in the NBA Finals, I begin to wonder if the quest for a championship begins to overwhelm the simple idea of playing the game.  Enjoying the game.

There is a legitimate argument that if the ring is all you want, then you tend NOT to play the game at the highest level all the time, as you would if you simply LOVE playing the game; when a championship is on the line, you play hard, but if you're behind in the game and the game doesn't matter in your quest for a ring, then all of a sudden you're not running out the grounders or moving quickly back onto defense.

Which means, you're really only playing hard when the spotlight is hard upon you.

What a sorry state that would be.

I can remember when I played the game as a boy.  We'd play all day, often until it was far too dark to see the ball.  Every pitch was an opportunity; there was joy with every crack of the bat. 

I can remember a quote which I will attribute to Leroy "Satchel" Paige, quite possibly the greatest pitcher who ever took a mound on a summer's day.  "I feel so good," he'd often say, "I think we should play two."

Oh, Satch.  The Spirit is willin' but the knees are weak.

Give me no awards or accolades, my friends; give me no rings to wear or trophies to put on a mantle to gather attention and dust.

Give me a sun-filled Saturday on a green, green diamond, with real wooden bats and leather gloves.  And a gleaming white ball.

And when the sun goes down, let me dream of the glory of those times.