By Ken Rickard
Advertiser Staff Writer

"The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time."

— James Earl Jones as Terence Mann in "Field of Dreams"

As I was changing, Sportscenter was on the TV in the locker room at the gym. They were showing highlights from Game 7 of the New York-Boston series.

"Did you see the game?" some guy asked me.

"Yeah. Pedro gave up three in the bottom of the eighth."

"I can't believe I missed that!"

That exchange made me realize what baseball means to me. I have always been a sports fan, but football and basketball have garnered most of my attention. Lately, I've taken baseball for granted. I wasn't the only one.

For the last few weeks, America has rediscovered America's Pastime. Ratings for the Major League playoffs were up for the first time since 1999, most likely attributed to the Yankees, Red Sox and Cubbies making it to their respective championship series. (Hats off to you Fish fans, but I wasn't tuning in for Florida's decade of excellence.)

For a lot of guys, baseball is a universal language. It's a ball, a bat and a mitt. It's a game of skill and finesse, but sometimes you just gotta close your eyes and swing away to knock one over the fence.

When I was little, I used to pretend that I was a big-league pitcher, hurling fastballs over the plate. What I was really doing was putting dings into the fence surrounding the square I'd drawn as the strike zone.

I never played Little League, but I wish I did. I used to envy the kids in my class who got their pictures on baseball cards from their pony league teams.

A friend would get extra tickets to the Hawaii Islanders games at Aloha Stadium, and sometimes I would get to go. We'd sit there in our green satin jackets that were a couple of sizes too big ("you'll grow into them" the adults said), and we would eat our popcorn, hot dogs and soda pop.

You have to love a game where eating encased meats is an important part of the experience.

There's just something guys love about a baseball game, even if they are not fans of the sport.

Have you ever noticed those park leagues being played under the lights on a weeknight? There are usually several people who just happened by, hanging on the fence waiting to see a big hit or a close play at the plate.

Today, pro sports is about egos and attitudes, but it was nice to see that these playoffs got people excited because of the game's history and drama. It gave us something to talk about.

And to care about.

My little brother got his first baseball and glove for his birthday a few years ago, and he begged me to play catch with him.

After I showed him how to catch fly balls, he wanted to show me that he could pitch. I crouched down and with all he had, he one-hopped one into my face.

With a bloody lip, I smiled because I knew it was going to become another happy memory.

And it has, because we were playing baseball.

Reach Ken Rickard at krickard@honoluluadvertiser.com.