Or should I say, BRO, do you wanna have a catch? Don't get me wrong, I miss my late father badly. I saw Field of Dreams with him. Easily one of the top moments of my life. But when I think sentimentally about having a catch with someone, I think of my brother Jeff. Seven years older than me, but always with time for his little brother, Jeff was the perfect brother in many ways growing up. (Still is, and Steve isn't too bad either). He was a awesome as a Shortstop at Oak Creek High and his coach was quoted as saying there was and will never be a better fielder for OC. I marveled at the way he played, but cherished more the times he played with me in the backyard. Now, years later, I've been able to re-live those moments a bit. For the last two weeks, Jeff, bless his heart, has traveled the hour to Watertown to play softball with me. My church team stinks and we got beaten badly the last two weeks -- but he was there. Never before had playing catch before a beer-league softball game meant so much to me. We were just loosening up, as I have done for years with various teammates. But the last two weeks, I went into a time machine. We were back on Clement Avenue. I was copying his "flick of the wrist" tosses. When the game started, I realized I hadn't exactly re-captured the fountain of youth. Or, more appropriately, stepped onto to Ray Kinsella's field. I'm older, slower and fatter -- but I don't remember being happier. Our play on the field might not have been one for the history books... but it made my own "mental scrapbook". I know my Dad was smiling down on us as we hit back-to-back doubles last week. Heck, he wouldn't have cared about the ball Jeff booted or the flyball I dropped. Maybe we'll have to "have another catch" to practice up a bit.