I love a bat in all its forms. I like the sharp smack of a wood bat in a major league park, the shimmering ping of the aluminum bat used in the college game, and the high-pitched squeals of earth’s only flying mammal. I have vivid memories of late spring evenings in my youth, those critters flying around overhead at Boshamer Stadium, catching moths and other light-transfixed bugs, swooping in and out of the stadium lights in an unmistakable display of the impending warm weather. I remember playing catch with other kids on the grass hill that was Boshamer Satdium’s unofficial play place, back before they poured concrete over the hill out past first base and added more seating, back when they allowed trees to grow near the Boshamer fence, skinny and young, but just sturdy enough for a little kid to climb over and into the ballpark.
UNC Baseball: Bats
