I built a ballpark once. When I was 10 years old, I wanted a place for a Wiffle-ball field on my parents' 120-acre dairy farm. Most of the land was unplayable, the hillsides and cow pastures dotted with patties that you could easily avoid when retrieving the herd, but a bit more problematic as the framework for serious sport. We could have played in the driveway, pitching toward the flat-topped garage, but the problem there was that any foul ball straight back would result in a prolonged fight w ...

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