The one you see here is one of the three I purchased at a yard-sale so when my grandsons come to visit we can go outside and play catch. Those boys are growing up fast, the youngest is 7 and the oldest will be 11 on Valentine's Day.
My old mitt was something I dearly loved. It was a three-fingered affair, and with my little and ring finger snuggled into the third finger of the mitt, it was a perfect fit. If I close my eyes I can still feel how it hung on my hand, almost falling off, but still secure; and how a ball blazing off the smack of a bat and into the meshing brought no pain. Odd isn't it, how one can gain life-long attachment to an old piece of leather, and a dog? But that's another story - the dog.
I loved baseball; and I guess I was pretty good at it until I decided in high school to run hurdles instead: big mistake.
