Nine of us hang onto the memories. In that fleeting span of years of our youth, it was the whole ballgame. Quite literally, it was the whole ballgame. Growing up in a small Ohio town in the 1950s and ’60s, baseball was everything. Then one day, it abruptly ended. Most of us never played another game of organized baseball after our 18th year. But for the previous 10 years, the game was our all-consuming passion. We were Little League All-Stars, Babe Ruth League All-Stars, high school conference champions… Teammates. Our 15 minutes of fame. Then we were scattered by the winds of life. We do not hold too tightly to nostalgic and maudlin memories; honestly, we moved on to more important accomplishments and achievements. But separately. This was the decade we were all bound together with common purpose, shared values. Although we are now in our 70s, we can remember when baseball was joy and sadness, triumph and defeat, pride and fulfillment, friendship and camaraderie. The game was our singular bond, and 50-plus years later, when the sparks of memories flash, we still treasure it. I am so glad, so very glad, that I shared those days of baseball with you guys.