As a kid, baseball season meant school was out. The days were warm and long, and we didn't have to wrap up in layers of clothes to go out. The Reds were on the radio and we listened outside while playing catch or eating hot dogs and ice cream. It seemed that no one was ever sick with colds and flu during baseball season, like they were during the winter.
The smells of baseball were bubble gum, fresh dirt, newly-cut grass, and leather gloves, unlike the smells of gyms and sweaty locker rooms, which I had just as soon forget. If you fell playing baseball, you landed on that fresh dirt or grass, instead of squeeking across a hardwood floor.
I loved (and still love, in case no one has noticed
) the baseball uniform, and loved putting one on. This was much better than having to wear a too-revealing jersey and short shorts, which is what basketball players wore in those days. I loved baseball cards and would spend hours lying in the floor studying them.
And of course, my list of reasons for loving baseball would be incomplete without mentioning the Cincinnati Reds of the 1970s.