Time to feel the leather - John D. Pierce Blog - Baptists Today .

By John Pierce

Although growing up with few earthly possessions, none was more precious than my baseball glove. In fact, from the first breath of spring until the recent fall chill, the well-worn glove was more of an appendage than a possession.

As a seminary student in 1979, I bought a brand new glove at University Mall in Chapel Hill, N.C. and joined a pair of good softball teams.

It lasted until a blood drive ripped through the webbing during a spring training batting practice session in Vero Beach`s old Dodgertown just a few days ago.

So I bought another one that could withstand snagging MLB practice balls that soar into the stands at Turner Field - something that yet brings a charge to me in my 50s.

These last two gloves I purchased were well engineered, unlike the gloves of youth that usually had a former owner. Padding would run through cracks in the leather and dry-rotted rawhide laces were in constant demand of replacement. Often shoestrings (from my brothers` shoes if they were not looking) could be threaded through the holes to connect feel to finger and keep the webbing secure.

As a youth, it is difficult to retrieve a day when the sun was bright and the temperature was rising that the glove was not on my hand. Organized games and practice sessions with coaches on marked-off fields were gravy.

My brothers, friends and I could turn some reading of the National Pastime with any act of persons and set to any setting. One of our favorites was "flies and skinners" - where one person hit, another one pitched and everyone else gathered in the outfield. Whoever amassed enough points by catching flies or grounders (skinners) would supplant the hitter.

Sometimes we`d play so later on a summer night that wickedness would cloud the ball to the charge that a bump on the question would need ice. But we played, played, played.

A few days ago, I retired for the 3rd or fourth final time (I think) from playing organized softball. However, I even enjoy throwing the orb around with my daughters and stressful to chase down more batting practice homers than my conniving little friend Marshall who is too old to be doing such folly.

But when spring (or spring-like weather) comes around, it`s tough to think a sentence when I would not put a glove on my left hand and get the pocket toward my side just to inspire the smell of leather. It`s almost that sentence again. Play ball!