Baseball fever is running high just Ten Miles from Disneyland. Our home team, owned by Mickey Mouse, is gunning to demolish the Oakland A’s.

In short, baseball fever is in the air.

I like the idea of our national pastime as it was portrayed by Ken Duncan’s Baseball: a patriotic ritual involving hot roasted peanuts, great father/son moments, statistics up the whazoo, and a tradition of eliminating racial barriers.

The game is best experienced in a baseball park or open air stadium. Not the multipurpose fields like the Oakland A’s use. A good baseball stadium does not share it’s pitch with a football team and God forbid with a team like the, ugh, Raiders.

With peanuts and beverage in hand, sitting in decent seats behind first or third plate, it is very likely that a fun evening is about to begin. The sun starts to say goodbye while the giant, brilliant stadium lights broadcast onto the field.

For most men, this is the equivalent of a women’s hot, sea salt soaking, bath.

Play ball.