Commencing with Little League, my focus was mainly on baseball. But girls were a close second. I engaged in foreplay with mannequins between ballgames. It was fun. Me and my friends incessantly rode our bicycles around town day and night. Swimming, too. We did a lot of it. It's what we did, especially during summertime.

My mother had eyes for my baseball coach. He always wore lucky, checkered slacks. He told me about the checkered slacks that “these babies are lucky." In more ways than winning ballgames, I suspected. My mother undressed those ubiquitous slacks many a-time. I threw no-hitters. The world was good. And, why shouldn't it be?

Come up with the most shagged balls you get the ice cream cone. Equitably, everyone got ice cream whether or not they came up with the most shagged balls. Point is, you got after it, you hustled. Many a trip to the local Dairy Queen for soft serve cones, Buster Bars, what-have-you. I remember my assistant coach had a big nose almost identical to his son's. Nice folks despite their comical appearance. Another teammate of mine, his mother, inadvertently ran into me with her car while I was in pin-stripes on my Schwinn. Me and another teammate raced her on our bikes and I guess she didn't notice. She accidentally turned right into me. I collided with the side of the car at the front end above the wheel well and flew over the hood, landed in the street. Scared the hell out of her. My father drove me over to the doctor's office. A couple of scrapes, a bump on the head. The doctor cleared me to play, said that it did not appear that I had a concussion. Not too much scrutiny back in those days. My father was laughing knowing I was burning to get back to the ball park. He was right to be proud. I returned in the middle innings to pound a 2-RBI double off the wall and help our team to victory.

I was a big fan of my sister's one-piece swim team swim suit, I recall. I built my own girl mannequin out of it with pillows to simulate just the right curves. I was a creative kid, on and off the field. Community authorities attempted to curb my enthusiasm. I played sports and spent ample time in the courts. Anything to escape the boredom and have some action. It was all about action.

In fact, one night, I walked over to your house in just my underwear and t-shirt. I am not afraid to admit it, this was just how crazy I was over you. I dreamt I was positioned in left field with the Chicago Cubs (of all teams!) and attempted to restring my glove between pitches. I needed an extra string of leather. I left in the 6th inning without a word. Took off the uniform, skipped the shower, and headed straight to your house. Ostensibly for just that string of leather.

Yeah, right!

Look, you either surmount limitations or do not. Even in your dreams, they're always there: baseball and girls. You know you gotta have it!