Nostalgic technology

This isn’t another celebration of baseball – like the great “Bull Durham,” The Natural” or “Field of Dreams.”

No, it’s technology for the nostalgic.

Cam’s my firstborn grandchild. He’s 13 and plays for the Little League Cobras. They play five or six games a week.

I mostly attend home games. His weekday games usually start at 6, just as my shift ends. Sometimes, the Cobras are on the road. Timing and distance won’t let me attend.

Yet I still participate.

My phone plays his games almost-live. I can also track plays, check box scores and even name outfielders.

Yet the robotic play-by-play is best.

The same cheers loop in the background. The same ump calls balls and strikes. If a “whoosh” is interjected, someone, hopefully Cam, stole a base.

My phone lets me share in his triumphs.

Cam and I share little time together now. With school, church and baseball, plus three younger siblings, he’s a busy boy. No phone chats. I get lonely for him.

So when Cam plays without me, it’s not a phone. It’s my 1960s transistor radio.