The thwack of a baseball colliding with a bat and the thump of a folded newspaper landing on a porch are sounds I cherish. They’re rewinding for me this month while watching the Little League World Series.
As a kid, I played for four years on a team in Croton-on-Hudson, N.Y. Our ballpark didn’t have much green; it was more of a weedy brown. The field sat alongside the town dump on Croton Point,…