You play baseball as a kid for fun. Little League, Pony League, Colt League, High School. You play in college because you are good enough to play at a higher level and maybe, just maybe, you are still chasing that dream to play in the big leagues.

(WATCH AUTHOR ROB MACKNIGHT PITCH ON FOX 5-TV, BELOW)

When the dream ends, you play softball as a facsimile of the game you love. You enjoy the camaraderie with your pals, the post game beers and jocular outlet, yet you pine for being 60 feet six inches from home plate and throwing hard to get the next batter out.

The author (right) awaits his next stint on the mound. His

teammate is former major leaguer Nelson Simmons.

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Then one Thursday evening at Robb Field, a softball teammate explains that he had heard that you used to pitch and that his baseball team had an upcoming doubleheader and would you like to come out and toss the second game. Baseball? Organized baseball where the bases are 90 feet apart, baserunners can steal off of you if you are lax, and you go nine innings to determine a winner? Real baseball?

You show up in two weeks, after throwing a baseball against a high school wall every day. It's 104 degrees at Grossmont College (a Sunday in July 1996) and your new teammates want to know if you have any money and you give them everything in your wallet: $35. They want to know if you have ever caught before, and you joke that you did at age 10 in Cap League. Next thing you know you are borrowing another player's sweaty protective cup and attempting to secure it with a bandana, since you didn't even bother to wear a jock to theballyard.

You catch the first game of the doubleheader, browning out frequently from the constant up and down in the oppressive heat, missing plenty of pitches to the amusement of your pitcher, even forgetting to flash a sign for a pitch now and then. But you get through it, chug some water and get a few minutes of rest before having to pitch the second game. You revel in being on a real mound again and fire pitch after pitch as if it were your last day on the planet. You try to remember how to throw a curveball but have to mostly rely on simply firing the ball as hard as you can for as long as you can. You get the job done, your team has swept the doubleheader, and you are once again hooked on your first sports love.

Fast forward 14 years. You're 53 years old. You've been on eight championship teams along with eight tournament championship teams in places like Corona, Las Vegas, and Phoenix. In 2009, you played for two different teams and amass a 14-10 record with 16 complete games in 214 innings. The 2010 season brings new challenges in the San Diego Adult Baseball League in the 28-AA division, and you agree to play with the Showstoppers without ever having met the manager or players. During the first game at Mesa College you try to learn everyone's name, root on your new team, and get a feel for the dugout vibe. You wonder about the makeup of your team. Are they skilled, baseball savvy, do they really love the game, do they play as a team, do they celebrate as a team, do they stab each other in the back when apart, do they have fun playing ball, and do they have what it takes both in skills and upstairs to win it all?

Seriously, this guy is 53.

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The team struggles and is losing 7-2, when to your amazement the pitcher and catcher switch positions. It gets uglier and you ask your manager about at least getting in a bullpen session if not being used in the game. Finally, you get the call to mop up with an inning in the bottom of the 8th. You coax a weak grounder to first base, a foul out to third, saw off a righty in on the hands only to see him parachute a blooper that dies between third and shortstop for a single, then get the next batter looking at a fastball on the outside corner. It's been a dreary day watching your team get pummeled, 13-2, but you feel good coming off of the mound with the arm feeling like a million bucks and the manager smiling while saying "now I know what I have."

The next game at David Wells Field in Point Loma finds you starting on the hill, though you know you have to leave after an hour and a half due to a meeting in Irvine. You feel good on one of your least favorite mounds but the defense has a tough day and you allow doubles off the right and left field fences and leave after five innings trailing 5-1, only to find out later that your boys were again trounced, 11-2.

You go into your next start on a gorgeous spring Sunday morning at Hoover High School's Ted Williams Field, against an undefeated team. The first inning is catastrophic as a bad hop on a double play ball knocks down your tough third baseman with a shot just above the lip, errors are made at short and third, and an opposite field bloop over the first baseman highlight a five run uprising. After two dismal defeats, it is the worst possible start and things could get contentious in the dugout and on the field, but you keep it light with positive chatter intended to keep the troops' chins up. Sure enough, things settle down and your team plays well and begins to chip away at the lead until finally taking a 6-5 lead in the top of the sixth.

You get sloppy and exhibit tired legs in the bottom of the inning by throwing a flat fastball that gets whacked to left center for a double, then hang a change up that a righty takes the opposite way for a triple. They re-take the lead, 7-6.

Your team shows renewed vigor by erupting in a two-out rally and go to the ninth up, 11-7. You pace yourself and focus with maximum concentration and brush off a bloop single and throwing error that gives them a run and finish strong with a double play to end the game. You get a big hug from base umpire Ernie Walker who was your teammate at San Diego City College in 1975 and he jokes that "you still have that rubber arm."

The team is genuinely excited and relieved, the skipper and his wife are thrilled, and the smiles are huge all around. Your team is in the win column, you suddenly feel like a contender, the post game ice on the arm and beer down the throat are just what the doctor ordered, and you are giddy with satisfaction at being able to go a quality nine to help your team win and help show them that they can win no matter what the deficit or whomever the opponent. Your nine inning line: One walk, and eight strikeouts.

Yes, that winning feeling is what you love. It elicits a unique outward smile and inner feeling. There are many lovely parts of our existence, and for you this one is right up there with the very best.