I can still remember, 46 years later, the starting lineup for my 1962 Darlington American Little League championship team.

Behind the plate was Terry “Smokey” Burgess, who became a high-ranking officer in the state police. At first base was Kevin Glavine, the tallest player on the team and one of our several power hitters. I was the smallest player — most definitely not a power hitter — batted leadoff, and played second base. Although my batting average hovered around the Mendoza line, my on-base percentage of .700 — achieved by virtue of drawing 31 walks in 20 games — might have earned me a congratulatory nod from Bill James, had such a thing as OBP been a pertinent statistic in those days.

The shortstop position was divided between Billy Perry and Dave Zaborski, depending on which one was pitching that day. Perry was a little kid with a big curve. What I remember most about Zaborski was a home run he hit that year at the old Metropolitan Park. His feet barely touched the ground as he jumped for joy around the bases while his father, who attended every game, was even happier. Pat Hunt, a skilled bunter, played third base and batted second.

In the outfield, we had Dave Martin in left; slugging Wayne Vignali — who hit eight homers that season — in center; and, in right, Steve McGuire, who later was in the class ahead of me at Notre Dame. If there’s another Little League team from Rhode Island that sent two players from the same side of the diamond to Notre Dame, I’d like to hear about it.

I played for Carter Rice Storrs & Bement Paper Company, and my mother used to say that the sponsors didn’t get their money’s worth out of me until I was 12. Before that, the names of Storrs and Bement were tucked into my pants.

We beat Standard Transportation for the title, a team whose stars were Frank Doheny and Tom Tetrault. Doheny became a successful insurance man and is president of Pawtucket Country Club. Tetrault is the longtime pro at Fall River Country Club. Perhaps it was losing to us that turned them from baseball to golf.

But, as enjoyable as that championship season was, when summer comes every year and I sit beneath the apple tree in my backyard with a cool drink and reminisce about seasons long past. It’s the Darlington Mets — Pawtucket Boys Club League Pee Wee “B” champs in ’62, then Peewee “A” champs in ’63, who are my favorite memory.

That was baseball in its purest form — a brand of ball that is increasingly rare in these more hurried, harried times.

Unlike Little League, where we had uniforms and were coached by adults — the warm and caring Howie Gomes coached Carter Rice in that championship season –– kids showed up for Boys Club League games wearing T-shirts and jeans, or corduroys, or even shorts. Some wore rubber cleats; others, sneakers. There were no parents around. Except, occasionally, a thoughtful mother who would stop by to drop off cold drinks on particularly hot days — days that seemed to move as slowly as the cold beads of moisture dripping off a glass.

We put together our own rosters, made up of our friends. Greg Murphy was the driving force behind our team. His Dad, Jim, was managing editor of the Pawtucket Times, and — blame him! — always encouraged me to pursue a career in newspapers. Like his father, Greg loved baseball. As a senior in high school, he hit a home run over the right-field fence at Macomber Stadium, in Central Falls, off Billy Almon in extra-innings to win the state American Legion championship for Fierlit-Korzen Post 79.

Almon, of course, went on to star as a shortstop at Brown and was the first player taken in the 1974 major-league draft. He played 15 seasons in the big leagues. My cousin, John Donaldson, who pitched for Warwick Vets, was a teammate of his for Shields Post in the summer of ’69, when they were beaten by Murphy’s dramatic homer. Shields’ best pitcher was Ed Hrabcsak of Bishop Hendricken, who went on to pitch at Notre Dame, where he gave up a homer to Mike Schmidt, then of Ohio University, and later a Hall of Famer for the Philadelphia Phillies, that may still be orbiting the planet.

But all that’s another story.

The Darlington Mets were baseball at its best –– a bunch of carefree kids who rode their bikes to the field, decided who was going to play where, drew up a batting order, then went out and had fun.

Unlike their namesakes in New York, who in the early ’60s were as a pathetic a ball club as anyone would want to imagine, the Darlington Mets were a very good team.

We had plenty of pitchers. In addition to Perry and Zaborski, we also had Doheny, who was equally good both on the mound and behind the plate, and Joey MarcAurele, who went on to become an All-State quarterback at St. Raphael, then a defensive end at Holy Cross, and now is president of Citizens Bank.

Joe’s coach in Little League — he played for the German Club of Pawtucket, in the Darlington National league — didn’t want his star pitching for anybody else, so, when the Times would print roundups of the Boys Club League games, we had to make up names to give MarcAurele, who also frequently contributed key hits, so his coach wouldn’t know. Kids around town began to wonder how we kept coming up with so many good players that nobody had ever heard of.

We had another football star in the outfield. Charlie Sawicki became an All-State fullback at Tolman and went on to play in the Ivy League, at Columbia.

And then there was Paul Savoie, whose father was head of the Pawtucket School Committee. “Zeb,” as we called him, later owned greyhounds that raced at Lincoln Park. He named one of them after me — Jim Jam Donaldson. He had another called Pappas The Legend, after the loquacious and lovable Mike Pappas, who helped countless kids as director of the Pawtucket Boys Club.

Too often these days, as I drive past ball fields, I see them empty. Unless, of course, there are scheduled practices or games for high-powered teams, when parents hang over the fence to watch. And sometimes comment.

Gone are the days when kids would put their wooden bat and well-oiled glove over the handlebars of their bike and ride across town to meet their pals for games that, nearly half-a-century later, are long forgotten, but the faces, and the friendships, are always remembered.

jdonalds@projo.com