The sandlot was a vacant lot we especially used for unorganized sports. It was a place during my childhood years where I could go and not have a worry on my mind, except being with my best friends and playing some baseball. The lot was a place where the memories of endless fun and games took place. I can still hear the voices of neighbors yelling at us to go home because of the tennis balls we hit against their houses and off their windows. To us the sandlot was better than Wrigley Field, nothing else could compare to all the times we had there.It was a small field in between two houses with some woods out behind the fence. The worn down grass showed the base paths, my mom’s old rug squares for bases, and the home plate was made out of wood and painted white. These were all the things we used to make this old field our baseball park. During our endless games we sure felt like we were playing on a real field. The rules aren’t exactly like baseball, although things were very similar. Day after day we never had a winner. We just played to satisfy our love for the game, not for bragging rights. Our games could be played with just four people and sometimes we had games that were nine on nine, just like the pros. Every morning I waited for the call to meet at the lot. By the time we met up, we were ready to play. Making teams was always a hassle because everyone always wanted to be on certain teams. So, we usually drew names out of a hat and made trades to keep the game even. Taking slides into the run-down grass around the bases, even getting cuts from the pebbles we missed picking up were all part of the lot. Every time a foot stomped on home plate, it was a reminder that the sandlot was ours. By the time lunch rolled around we would be covered in sweat and ready to jump in the pool to cool off. After a nice long rest there we were back on the lot continuing our games as if we had never quit playing. When d...
