Chris Ewing, noted weatherman for WABI-TV 5 in Bangor, tells me that it is now officially spring. I like Chris. No sweaters. No theme music. Just the meteorological facts.

My oldest boy Scott, the future architect, likes this time of the year because of all the sports overlap. With the Boston Red Sox in spring training and the NCAA preparing for its Final and Frozen Fours – go Maine – all that’s missing are the Boston Celtics in the playoffs.

I am not, however, holding my breath for a Celtics surge. Back in the day – don’t you like that expression? – the C’s were a spring constant for sports junkies.

Steamy Boston Garden and chilly Fenway Park were the places to be this time of the year. Celtics fans everywhere surely miss those days.

In 1969, I had the good fortune to get tickets for opening day at Fenway Park in Boston, an annual rite of spring in Beantown. That year held particular significance because it marked the official comeback of Tony Conigliaro, the young slugger who was beaned in 1967 and took a full year to recover from it.

Tony was never quite the same player after that, but he did get the winning hit that spring day, much to the delight of the Fenway faithful, who packed the house to see the phenom.

Ah, spring.

I dug out my tiny radio the other night just to hear Sox announcer Joe Castiglione bring a little baseball into my living room, er, family room – sorry, Shelly. There’s nothing quite like baseball on the radio. It mixes with the smell of mud to create an atmosphere that only this time of the year can bring.

Back in the day – there’s that expression again – the Red Sox lineup was comprised of such stalwarts as Pete Runnels, Frank Malzone, a young star named Carl Yastrzemski, Gary Geiger, and Russ Nixon.

When we were kids, we didn’t give a hoot what the team’s record was. This was our Old Towne team. That was all that mattered.

Backyard games were usually comprised of neighborhood kids, who took names of all-stars such as Mickey Mantle, Brooks Robinson, Frank Robinson, Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, and the like. These guys would take on the aforementioned “Sox,” then have at it in a rousing game of hardball.

It was a ritual often repeated through the summer months, but it never got old. I count myself lucky to have grown up on a sandlot.

I was surrounded by kids who could really play the game, many of them like Brewer’s Freddie Danforth, Ricky Franks, and Peanut Tardiff would go on to greater things in America’s pastime.

In Bangor, names such as Ricky Nelson (more on him later), Gary Moore, and Donnie Reynolds would star on teams across the Penobscot River.

What a childhood I had.

Yes, it’s spring. While we’re crowning basketball champions and settling in for another summer of baseball, let’s remember this: We’ve survived the winter. Let’s relish springtime, and never forget our childhood. And Chris? You did a nice job of keeping us abreast of winter’s wonders even without a fancy sweater.

30-Second Time Out

We were sorry to learn about the recent death of former local star athlete Ricky Nelson.

Ricky was, arguably, one of the top athletes to come out of this area who never received the recognition others did in high school.

Ricky was a rare talent, with a rifle arm in baseball, great speed in football as evidenced by two brief NFL stints, and a tremendous jumping ability. I know because he played on one of my first church league hoop teams. The lefty could dunk with either hand.

Our thoughts and prayers go out to his family.

BDN columnist Ron Brown, a retired high school basketball coach, can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net