The boys of summer are back in action, and I wish that I were one of them.

I wish that I could spit sunflower seeds all over the place and not be punished for it.

I wish I could talk into my glove during a conference on the mound. After all, the stadium is full of spies.

I wish I could point to the sky after every favorable thing that I did, because, of course, my guardian spirit made it happen.

Baseball is a better game than football. I won't get very much agreement on that point around here.

The baseball team has had its moments, and that's about all. The football team is adored. If you just went by the number of ugly orange shirts that were sold in this town, there would be no doubt that one team has it on the other one.

But I am not talking about the locals. I am talking about the games themselves - the layouts, the designs, the purity, the distances. It is still an accomplishment to steal a base.

It doesn't matter that baseball players have modern-day technologies in the training room that Pee Wee Reese did not have. It's still a big deal to steal a base.

The distances are perfect.

From home to first to second to third to home to beer.

A great game might end 2-1. Well played, poetic, and nuanced.

Football fans, on the other hand, prefer a lot of Funky Chickens in the end zone.

I was a Little League baseball star. Those were the happiest days of my life.

Then my vision changed, and I didn't do anything about it. I could no longer hit a fastball. I couldn't hit a ball that was rolled to the plate.

So I became a head coach. It wasn't the same.

But I got to wear a uniform. Baseball managers look the same as the players.

It's not like that in other sports.

Kubiak isn't in gear. Vince Lombardi used to wear a suit. It was before the khaki lobby took things over.

It might have been kind of fun to see John Wooden suited up. I met him. Have I told you that?

Our national anthem was finished just in time. About an hour after Francis Scott Key finished the "The Star-Spangled Banner," he handed it to Roseanne Barr's great-great-great grandmother, and she sang it before the very first professional baseball game ever played.

Barr's relative was overheard saying, "Dude, this is somewhat difficult to sing."

Baseball brings out the Little Leaguer in all of us.

Football brings out the Tyrannosaurus rex in all of us.

Who here collected football cards when you were a kid? And put them in your spokes?

Baseball diamonds are immaculately groomed. I like to see the mower marks. Football fields, unless they are made out of plastic, get shredded.

(Have you ever watched a football game played in a baseball stadium when the infield hasn't been sodded yet? It's grody.)

Make mine baseball. The players don't act like King Kong after a big play. That's what happens in football.

I want to thank someone who was a baseball announcer in Los Angeles when I was playing Little League in Southern California, and the game was new to me.

Eisenhower was president.

Vin Scully is rounding third and heading into home.

Craig Marshall Smith is an artist, educator and Highlands Ranch resident. He can be reached at craigmarshallsmith@comcast.net.