Roger Angell called it The Summer Game.

Some call it The National Pastime.

Say simply “ballgame” and no one thinks you’re going to a tennis match.

This summer I saw ballgames in two hemispheres, one national capital, three state capitals, six different states, and at least seven different amateur and professional leagues.

I saw games where every player on the field was a millionaire, and games where everyone was doing this for nothing.

In Nationals Park they have locker rooms where each player has basically his own little apartment. At Shirley Povich Field in nearby Bethesda, Maryland (home of the Bethesda Big Train), the “locker room” is at your host family’s house. As a fan, when you went to the men’s room… you might run into one of the players.

It was all fun to watch and a joy to see nearly all of these games with my son. That’s part of the appeal, no? Fathers and sons. Roll back the clock 35 years and I’m the kid in the story. Now I’m the dad.

Speaking of kids, next week of course I’ll be back at my regular gig, doing my best to impart some math and some otherwise useful lessons to middle schoolers. It’s not the easiest job in the world, but at least it’s not alone among jobs where one gets sassed by 12-year-olds.

There are plenty of minor league baseball players who have to put up with that as well.

The kid fans grow up, though, just as the students do, and someday they have kids or students of their own.

It happens every summer.