I recently went back to a place that molded my young life. As I was doing behind the wheel we made a stop at my old little league football field, the place I spent my autumn Saturdays. The cold air blows as I see the new generation warm up for their games, and it’s a harsh reminder that you can’t go back in time and relive great times or memories. As I stand in the line to enter the stadium, the smell of the snack bar loams in the air around me. The field looking just as I did when I played, green and lively, the announcer calls out the names of the young boys who will soon know victory or defeat. The field hosts a team of local boys and a team from one town over, which seem to bring out the best in me as a young player. The field seems smaller than the vast land I played at and much smaller at my now High school field. The excitement is in the year as they begin the coin toss, and all wait in anticipation. The away team wins the toss and deferred, this was odd for a little league team. As the ball is kicked off, I zone out and enter a former game of mine, the championship game I played on that very field. I can’t remember much of my games, just certain plays. The visit to the past time renews my love for the game. The time we are in goes by faster than, at least in my opinion, we all realize.