Spectro-Vision

Today as I stood out on the yard watching swarms of fifth graders playing a game of kickball, I found myself in a moment of quiet reverie. It occurred to me that these kids would probably never know the sublime simplicity of the ghost runner. For those of you who may have missed out on this particular bit of arcane playground lore, or maybe those who may have misplaced the significance of this convention, let me explain.
Ghost runners took the place of the player who was needed to advance them. That is to say, if you had a runner on first and second, and there were only two players on the team, then a ghost runner would be left on second while that player returned home to bat or kick. The tricky part came when everyone started to move. The standing rule was that the ghost runner could only run as fast as the person right behind them, and even though you couldn't tag a ghost runner, it was a simple matter to run them into a force out. In our example, if you were to tag third base before the runner on first had made it to second, then the ghost runner would be out. If the runner on first made it all the way to third, then the ghost runner would score.
Pretty simple stuff, but I liked to imagine the spectral shapes, sometimes dressed in pinstripe sheets gliding around the base paths. My younger brother and I played plenty of short-handed games of softball in the meadow at our cabin, and our lineups were primarily ghosts. We were often fortunate enough to have fielding assistance from the neighborhood Golden Retriever, but he was better on defense. Many times we were able to load the bases with ghosts, and then drive them all in when our retriever failed to live up to his breed.
As I watched the fifth grade argue about who would play "pitcher's helper" and who would be in left-mid-center-field, I made a wish for them of solitude and all the ingenuity that comes with it.