Spotting Carlton Fisk in his street clothes behind the grandstands and getting him to sign a picture of his famous home run off the foul pole to win the sixth game of the 1975 World Series.

Watching pitcher Tommy John taking 20 minutes to get from the clubhouse to the field, graciously honoring every autograph request.

Talking to the late Don Drysdale-also in street clothes and going unmolested and unnoticed outside the clubhouse (except for the keenly observant Captain Florida).

Hanging around after the crowd left one spring afternoon, and getting the surprise treat of the teams retaking the field-sans umpires-for a few extra practice innings. There was at least $25 million in salary on that field, playing for me and maybe a dozen other people who had moved down to the coveted first row.

In the late '80s, you knew the end was near. Other cities in Florida were busy building spring training monstrosities. Meanwhile, Payne Park still retained its retro, 1950s sign proclaiming Sarasota home of the White Sox. Except some idiot had thrown a rock through it. And they didn't fix it. It was not a good omen.

In the end they built Ed Smith, and it was the right call. I've got a clipping somewhere of the farewell-to-Payne-Park spread they ran in the Sarasota Herald-Tribune. Okay, so they tore down a quaint old park with lots of great memories. Too bad, but it was still a dump; and besides, I have a life to live.

Fifteen years have since passed. The White Sox played at Ed Smith until 1993, when they left for Tucson, and the Cincinnati Reds took their place. And Payne's absence hits home a little more with the opening of each spring schedule. The new fields got bigger and the players tinier. The Yankees' Legends Field went up in Tampa in 1996, and Cracker Jack Stadium opened in Disney World the following year, with respective capacities of 10,200 and 9,500, humongous by spring training standards. (Although you have to love the relatively cozy City of Palms, capacity 6,990, which has a great row of palm trees along the outfield wall that lend an old Florida feel.)

The memories of Payne continued growing fonder, or maybe they were just predictably building in mythology and schmaltz with the passage of time. It didn't help that I made frequent visits to the home of longtime Sarasota journalist Rick Barry, my bureau chief from the old days and fellow baseball fanatic. When they were tearing down Payne, he bought four of the forest-green box seats at salvage and had them set up at his house.

The price of the chairs: $80.

Being able to still touch a piece of Payne Park: Priceless.