In mid-August the air is heavy with humidity and baseball. By now the season has taken shape. During the last heat of the summer, teams fight to position themselves for pennant races that may well be decided in the chill of October evenings.

It's been said the baseball season is too long, stretching from April until nearly November but in the northeast that's perfect. It covers every month when it's possible to be outside without a jacket.

I'm a fan so baseball is a constant presence for me. It was present, literally, when we lived in Rochester, New York. We lived about a mile from Red Wings Stadium, which back in the eighties was home to the Baltimore Oriole's Triple A affiliate. We used to walk to ballgames. It was more relaxing than battling the traffic and competing for parking.

The lot was inadequate which is part of the reason why the stadium was demolished and a new one built on a larger parcel nearer downtown. Fans parked on lawns. Local residents did a tidy business during the summer, renting three or four spaces on the postage stamp sized yards in front their houses. With over 60 home games a year, it added up. They must have been sorry to see the stadium go.

From our house, as night fell, the glow from the stadium lights could be seen over the tops of the mulberry trees in the backyard. When the air was right the chords of the organ inciting the fans would drift through the windows, and sometimes very distinctly came the voice of the stadium announcer. "Now batting...."

We always knew when something exciting happened, when a Red Wing had hit a homerun or made a great catch, because then you could hear the crowd, a sound like distant thunder.