My brother Rick and I grew up in a time and place ideally suited to the formation of lifelong baseball fans. The time was the 1950s and early 1960s; the place was Pomona, California, just a bit east of Los Angeles. The Dodgers moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles in 1958; I had my 10th birthday that June and Rick turned 8 in December.

In the 1950s, boys like us could be found playing catch or over-the-line (when only a handful of players were available) or Wiffle ball in the backyard or sandlot games all over town. Now well into my 70s, and long transplanted to Wheaton, Illinois, I still see children playing some form of baseball here or there, but the everyday seasonal presence of the game is much diminished. That’s one massive change. “National pastime”? Not so much today. The MLB’s game and fandom, of course, are radically different from what they were in the 1950s, let alone the 1920s or the 1880s.