Beyond the Byline: Baseball volunteers are Hall of Famers

PLYMOUTH — On Barnes Street in Plymouth, a real baseball field sits on what once was — a sandlot field of dreams.

On my weekly drives through the Homeland, my car seems auto-programmed to pass by several landmarks of my youth, including the Barnes Street Little League field.

I go up Orchard Street, turn right on Fourth Street and head down Barnes Street where the Plymouth Little League field sits on the land where us kids learned to play and love the game of baseball.

Those were the days of choosing sides, rocks for bases, white-washed baseballs, taped wooden bats and made-up rules.

My dad, who co-founded Plymouth Little League in 1950 with his friend Joseph “Shep” Chepulis, would be happy to see the condition of the field that they helped build — but Dad and Shep would be very sad to learn that the field is seldom used.

Back in the mid-1970s when the Wyoming Valley West School District decided it was going to build its new high school in Plymouth, they chose the site where Plymouth Little League’s original field sat on Wadham Street. That ill-conceived decision necessitated the Little League move and Barnes Street was chosen as the new site.

Every time I drive by, I stop and stare at the field and I imagine the old sandlot where we played every day.

Gary Kochinski Sr. was one of the kids who played with us at Barnes Street in those sandlot games of old. Gary’s brother, Ronnie, also played with us back then. Gary and I would usually choose sides — deciding who got first pick by gripping a baseball bat hand-over-hand until only the knob was visible. At this crucial point, whoever’s turn it was would use two or three fingers to grasp the bat and then he would have to complete the process by twirling it around his head three times without dropping it. Then — and only then — would he be awarded first pick.

Back then, every kid had a dream. For us, our dream was to be at bat in the bottom of the ninth in the seventh game of the World Series.

My dream was to play centerfield for the Yankees. I was supposed to supplant Mickey Mantle, my childhood hero.

Dreams are great — even if unfulfilled. But I did have the opportunity to walk into Yankees Stadium and feel the hallowed ground under my feet. I stared out at centerfield and envisioned myself tracking down a fly ball out near the monuments that once stood in the old, original ballpark.

Those dreams come back to me every year when I watch a Yankees game.

And here we are again. The Bronx Bombers are off to a good start, despite several devastating injuries. They might look a little different now that the players are “allowed” to grow facial hair.

But they are the New York Yankees. We will watch the games and we will cheer as we squirm whenever a “closer” is called into the game to preserve a victory.

I will always cherish the time I drove my dad to Cooperstown, NY, to visit the Baseball Hall of Fame. It was awesome to watch him stop at the displays and read the captions, especially when he was looking at a Yankee.

But dad appreciated all of baseball. He respected the game and the players, like Willie Mays, Roberto Clemente, Ted Williams, Sandy Koufax, Hank Aaron, Al Kaline, Pete Rose, Willie McCovey, Frank Robinson, Harmon Killebrew, Bob Gibson, Stan Musial, Eddie Matthews, Ernie Banks, Warren Spahn — and of course Whitey Ford, Yogi Berra, Roger Maris and “The Mick.”

There was nothing better than watching a baseball game with my dad — first pitch to last.

Guys like my dad and Shep and all those who volunteered for years to provide quality baseball programs for kids everywhere should be represented in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Give them a plaque on the wall and include them all in a group induction ceremony.

Volunteers who have managed, coached, umpired or worked in refreshment stands have collectively promoted baseball and have significantly nurtured its growth.

Hall of Famers all.

I know, it’s another dream.

But this dream should come true.