We played stickball in the schoolyard of P.s. 209, Brooklyn. We never played with more than three people on a team. Our rules were simple, chalk box on the wall for the strikezone, no arguments there just look at the chalk on the ball. Hit the top of the fence on a fly and you had a double. Hit the bottom of the fence on the fly and you got a triple. Anywhere over the fence and you touched them all. No toe left on my Pro-Keds after a month. It’s too bad I can’t find anyone to play stickball with in Southern California. I’ll always be a Brooklyn boy at heart. Talking about this makes me want to get up and walk down to Nathan’s and get a bag of those greasy fries, nothing like it in the world.
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