tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14474631.post6047571673008000900..comments2023-10-19T05:40:59.162-04:00Comments on Sippican Cottage: Let's Play Two (From 2006)SippicanCottagehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14940797380578921776noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14474631.post-47659527227118323792009-04-13T07:16:00.000-04:002009-04-13T07:16:00.000-04:00Stuart- With us,if you fouled a ball off on the fi...Stuart- With us,if you fouled a ball off on the first base side sharply enough, it would go over a pallisade fence into a neighbor's yard. They raised dogs to sell. There'd be this comic snarling and thumping, and you'd have to go knock on their door and ask them to retrieve it. The ball always looked like it had spent a half hour in a garbage disposal when you got it back.SippicanCottagehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14940797380578921776noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14474631.post-73784521369483499232009-04-12T08:35:00.000-04:002009-04-12T08:35:00.000-04:00In our "ballpark", over the fence was an automatic...In our "ballpark", over the fence was an automatic out, and you had to retrieve the ball yourself. Both rules were because of the neighbor's dog.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09131725542763044493noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14474631.post-25576371822799840592009-04-11T00:17:00.000-04:002009-04-11T00:17:00.000-04:00Great story telling. I'm about ten years older th...Great story telling. I'm about ten years older than you and I appreciate the reminder of times long gone so pregnant with palpable specifics. <BR/>I remember joining in pick up games almost daily during baseball season. And there were never arguments about the rules. Everyone knew the rules and respected them. Only from reading your narrative do I now realize how special that aspect of my childhood was. <BR/>Thanks for the great post.snaggletoothiehttp://fishwrangler.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14474631.post-60365560315635095402009-04-10T11:01:00.000-04:002009-04-10T11:01:00.000-04:00My brother wouldn't ever let me play baseball with...My brother wouldn't ever let me play baseball with him; he and his friends had a diamond carved out in the backyard. The cyclone fence was first base, the pecan tree second, and the garage was third. <BR/><BR/>I got to be the cheerleader. Bah.<BR/><BR/>Thanks for this post and for bringing back those memories; it's lovely!Pat Austin Beckerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05767059128758168960noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14474631.post-39428392750759271732009-04-10T10:27:00.000-04:002009-04-10T10:27:00.000-04:00Good on Cookie, say I, because a good barber is da...Good on Cookie, say I, because a good barber is damn near impossible to find these days. As a kid, mine was Mickey. For some reason it's the worn out, dark red, wooden plank with the butt pad that he put across the arms of the chair for me to sit on that I remember the most.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01673842520123958712noreply@blogger.com