“I have an itch.”

One of the many benefits of moving to the College Station area with my wife last summer was getting to see our friend, Wally Moon, much more frequently than when we lived in Houston.

Spending time with Wally has become a valued part of my life's new routine.

The years have slowed him down a little -- Wally will soon celebrate his 88th birthday -- so I'm always happy to pay him a call at the Bryan retirement community where he lives. Frequently our conversations begin with a summary of Wally's physical well-being or a recap of the latest trip to see his doctor.

I've reached an age myself where sharing lamentations about aches and pains seems as natural as discussing the weather or the Aggies' most recent coaching hire.

So, an "itch" wasn't a completely unexpected topic of conversation on a recent visit as Wally and I settled in at the breakfast-nook table of his comfortable one-bedroom living quarters. I know Wally well enough to have suspected he might be speaking in metaphorical terms.

"An itch for what?" I asked, testing the waters.

"For a run in the sun," he replied, the right end of his famous "unibrow" raised in a mischievous manner.

If you're a baseball lover like Wally, who played 12 years in the big leagues, media mentions of the impending opening of spring training camps are a sign that warmer, brighter and better days are soon to come.

Wally Moon has been a part of that seasonal migration most of his adult life.

Wally was the National League's 1954 Rookie of the Year as a young outfielder with the St. Louis Cardinals. During his five years with the team, he and his wife, Bettye, called St. Louis their offseason home.

Midwestern winters near the banks of the Mississippi River can be arduous ... and bitterly cold.

Wally arrived at his first Cardinals' spring-training camp unannounced. After three years in the club's minor-league system -- and with a wife and young son in tow -- he showed up at the Redbirds' preseason home in St. Petersburg, Florida, determined to earn a permanent promotion.

"I guess you could say I gave the team a 'play me or cut me' ultimatum," Wally recalls. "Miraculously, they overlooked my insubordination, gave me a shot and I had a good spring."
He made the team and signed an annual contract worth $6,000, enough to support his family, at least until the season came to an end.

Fortunately, his baseball bosses could offer him gainful winter employment away from the smells of pine tar, chewing tobacco and newly mown grass. Second jobs were a necessity for most plying a baseball trade back then. Anheuser-Busch not only owned the Cardinals, but had a little St. Louis beer business on the side. In the months between baseball seasons, Wally earned a steady paycheck in the brewery's "bakery products" division, which was, in Moon's words, "a good job, but not nearly as thrilling as sliding into home with the go-ahead run."

For both Wally and Bettye, the ensuing spring-training trip to Florida, assured of a place on the team, was a welcome relief from the part-time trappings of a non-baseball existence and the full-time chill of the St. Louis winter.

Wally now lives "life in the late innings" without Bettye, who died two years ago after more than 60 seasons of marriage. Bettye accompanied her husband on many a late-winter excursion to the training fields of the Grapefruit and Cactus Leagues.
Baseball's preseason siren call is strong.

"I made it to spring training last year," Moon says. He threw out a first pitch at an exhibition game at the Dodgers' Camelback Ranch complex outside of Phoenix. Wally spent the last seven years of his big-league playing career in Los Angeles and won three World Series titles with the team. He represents a dwindling number of former players who took part in those Dodger glory years more than a half century ago.

"Are you headed to spring training again this year?" I asked, suspecting the answer I received.

"Probably not. It's a lot harder to travel these days.”

Wally gets around now with the help of a walker, although he still drives. He often laments a nagging lack of energy and admits to napping more than he would prefer. While there may be no "fun in the sun" in advance of baseball's 2018 campaign, Wally knows well the promise and potential of a season's clean slate.

"I read somewhere Jose Altuve has already reported to the Astros' camp in Florida." Wally spoke these words before taking another sip of the coffee he prepares each morning in his comfortably familiar and Joe DiMaggio-endorsed "Mr. Coffee" coffee-making machine. Moon is a big fan of Altuve, Houston's stellar second baseman. Like DiMaggio with the Yankees, Altuve is now an American League Most Valuable Player.

Wally knows well that rarified air. He finished fourth in the 1959 National League MVP vote. In his first year with the team that year, he led Los Angeles to the city's first World Series title.
Altuve did the same for Houston.

"Jose just won it all and yet, he still yearns to be a better player. That's an admirable quality ... in any profession.”

I nodded in the affirmative watching as Wally looked out the window of his apartment-sized kitchen. He seemed to be peering toward the memory of his baseball-playing past.
He lifted an eyebrow again as he glanced my way.

It turned out his thoughts were on the future.
"I wonder," he said to me, "if there will be baseball in heaven."