Where have all the sandlots gone?

A baseball field across the street from my home has become the newest casaulty of suburban development. It was inevitable I suppose....no land it seems is ever safe from the clutches of contractors. But it was the ballfield I introduced my grandson to......at the age of 2. (4years+ as of this writing) Walking him around the bases, naming each one as we stepped on it.
The next spring, I pitched ball underhanded to him...he swinging the mighty oversized plastic bat making occassional contact. Dropping the bat and running to first all the way to home on even a foul ball. The biggest of grins adorning his face. We had many visits there until just this early spring, when the field was finally converted. At least we had that field to start with and we do continue on playing if he wants. Either in the front yard or at a nearby school playground.
The arrival of the little guy awakens my eyes to view and review the things, places and activities of my own childhood. In this instance leading me to the observation that nowhere do I see or have seen in recent years, children of all ages playing an old-fashioned game of sandlot ball. Those pick-up games with neighborhood kids playing on a ballfield or making due on a large field with all the unique characteristics of its imposed layout.
Teams with uneven sides...when not enough outfielders...special rules when a lefthanded batter comes to the (sometimes) cardboard plate. You could pitch overhand, but not TOO fast. Myself, well a "junkball pitcher" might be an apt description. The personal arsenal included a drop pitch, curveball, screwball (pitch that curved away from a lefthand batter) and even tried throwing the vaseline ball on the sly...Gaylord Perry was in his heyday then...lol. Hiding a glob of vaseline under a Band-aid and rubbing up the ball.....actually it did absolutely nothing...but I had to try it a couple of times. ( I suppose it only works well enough if there is some velocity on the pitch.) As for the knuckleball...couldn't master it...my 11 to 14 year old fingers not big enough to hold it properly.
If I didn't pitch, leftfield was usually the place I patrolled. Guaging wind direction by throwing blades of grass up in the air every so often. Noting the condition of the field walking out to the outfield. Loved to run and make the difficult catches...in front of me and because I had a decent set of "wheels" could get the balls in the gap and many (but not all :D) of the ones over my head. I also took great pride on never giving up on a play, backing my fellow fielders and on more than one occassion holding the runner to one base. The one attribute I didn't have was a strong throwing arm.....the guys in the Major Leagues with the "guns" were players like Roberto Clemente and Dwight Evans.
At bat, the many times we emulated our baseball heroes....although I was strictly a righthanded batter.....the guys I liked were lefty hitters Carl Yastrzemski and Willie Stargell. Holding the bat high like Yaz and when coming to the plate..twirling the bat ala Stargell. Other times trying to mimick other player's stances and bat position. Experimenting.
As a hitter, no home run threat was I. Small and slight of build, it was my ability to slap hard line drives and leg out doubles. Taking extra bases on a fielding miscue. (or defensive indifference :D) Boy!, did I love sliding headfirst into second or third base just ahead of the throw! And on those times when I did manage to hit a homerun...it was usually the ability to run moreso than some towering blast to a deep part of the field.
Looking back...guess it could be said I had a love affair with sandlot ball. There were organized teams...Little League...Babe Ruth, etc. But perhaps owing to our location in town and the fact that our parents had a greater need to make a living the kids in my neighborhood made due with our own brand of "organized ball". And it just wasn't in Maine, it was everywhere my father was stationed (U.S. Navy)...Massachusetts, NY, Virginia.
Whenever dad was transferred to a new station, the first thing I did was to loop a ballglove thru the handlebars of my bike and head out looking for the closest ballfield or makeshift field. It wasn't too long before I would find a field or a game in progress. In this manner, I would make my first acquaintances/friends in a new environment.
As children we had our own community. No coaches, no managers and in the event of a dispute...we ultimately would find a solution that pleased most everyone. It was a ritual that we would play almost always after supper. And aside from those really hot and humid days that peppered summer, we played every day.
If there was one aspect that I detested deep inside..was picking players. Being the new kid on the block, I wasn't the established leader of any pack. Most of the kids I recall were decent and kind for the most part. But there is always somebody who gets picked last. That would be my fate the first couple of games until I established myself as a halfway decent player. My heart always went out to the kid picked last and its a credit to my parents and other people in my life that I had developed the attitude of lifting a team-mate up...not tearing him down.
Quite a few years have elapsed. And now...nowhere do I see evidence of the kids choosing up sides and playing ball just for the fun of it. Are the kids too busy being involved with their Playstations or X-Boxes? Has the online community totally replaced the real-in-the -world neighborhood? Have the "grown-ups" imposed their own order on things with organized ball for kids of all ages? Has soccer become the game of choice for school age children? Perhaps its all of this and more.
All I know is, my heart is heavy at the thought that my grandson will probably never experience the community and the fun and joy of the moment I found as a youngster playing ball.
But on the upside, we've got each other.