Columnist Ron Kantowski: Sandlot ball missing in Las Vegas

Thursday, May 17, 2001 | 10:12 a.m.

Ron Kantowski's column appears Thursday. Reach him at ron@lasvegassun.com or 259-4088.

Two things you'll never find in Las Vegas, regardless of how long or hard you try:

Economics, geology, politics and gas-guzzling SUVs might explain why the price of petrol has shot through the roof. But why don't kids choose up sides and play ball anymore?

Some theories:

While there's a certain attraction to blowing up Western civilization on a home computer, about all most video games teach a kid is how fantasy differs from reality (at least I hope so) and how to be quick on a joystick. Unless your life's ambition is to work for Tony Soprano, there aren't many jobs that require a quick trigger finger.

Conversely, and although we didn't realize it at the time, playing sandlot baseball was sort of a primer for life.

We learned about being committed, responsible and on time. (You couldn't have a game unless an appropriate number of players showed up.)

We learned how to compromise, such as deciding who got the odd (extra) player. (If he was an easy out, usually the team who chose first and/or had the neighborhood equivalent of Ernie Banks on its side.)

We learned how to adapt. (If there weren't enough players to fill all nine positions, then right field was "out" or you played "pitcher's hand out" in lieu of throwing the ball to a first baseman.)

We learned how to be resourceful. (If the old grouch across the street confiscated the only hardball after the big kid swatted it into his flower bed, a tennis or rubber ball would serve as a reasonable substitute.)

And we learned the many uses for electrician's tape, such as holding together a broken bat handle, covering the innards of a baseball after we had knocked the cover off, or splinting the skinny kid's fractured forearm so he could continue to play. (I grew up in a tough neighborhood).

But most of all, we learned how to have fun without keeping score.

No offense to Little League and all its organized derivatives. But in all the years I played sandlot ball, not once do I remember a kid breaking into tears because he popped up with the bases loaded.