NIAGARA FALLS — (Editor’s Note: Base Paths columnist Doug Smith has seen games in 216 different professional ballparks. Eleven hang among the Castellani’s “Fields of Dreams.” With a little help from his encyclopedia of scorebooks, here are the memories they evoke.)

YANKEE STADIUM, 1942 — There’s a war on but Dad has a defense-worker deferment and a pass on the Erie Railroad. Joe DiMaggio, who will enlist the following year, makes a sensational catch in right-center. We leave in the seventh inning to catch the last train home. DiMaggio homers in the eighth.

WRIGLEY FIELD, AUG. 8, 1955 — I’m supposed to take a gal from my Indiana railroad office, but she missed the train, she said. The Cubs’ Sam Jones outduels the Dodgers’ Don Newcombe 1-0. There are fewer than 10,000 in the stands. Four years later, on this very date, I’ll marry a woman I’ve yet to meet.

BALTIMORE MEMORIAL STADIUM, 1957 — That’s Polly Young, with whom I drive 160 back-roads miles from Bloomsburg, Pa., to this uncovered bowl. I must get her back to her mother that night; it’s the 50s, remember. A Biblical downpour stops play and we can’t find the car in the lot. We arrive on Mom’s doorstep looking like drowned rats and two years later solve this moral dilemma by marrying.

LAKEFRONT STADIUM, CLEVELAND, 1959 — My then-beloved Tigers win and their pitcher hits one of the seven home runs of his career. A decade later, he signs my scorebook, the first time, he says, he has ever been asked for an autograph on the offensive side. He’s still in the news, still tough to beat — Sen. Jim Bunning.

TIGER STADIUM, DETROIT, 1961 — I remember little of this trip except that the stadium seemed terribly dumpy. Maybe the memories were bulk-erased when I returned home to find a guy standing on our porch offering me a job with a larger paper.

CNE STADIUM, TORONTO, 1981 — On assignment as the Courier-Express travel writer, I take the train, using the Exhibition stop. It’s the Blue Jays vs. the Indians, and when they’re 2-2 after nine innings on a sunny Sunday afternoon, almost everyone gets up and leaves. Hockey games ended in ties back then; we suspect many fans thought the game was over.

THREE RIVERS STADIUM, PITTSBURGH, AUG. 31, 2000 — Waiting for a bus to Three Rivers’ last weekday game ever, I introduce myself to a fellow rider who turns out to be a priest who attended Canisius High. Absent-mindedly, I choose the seats and buy the priest’s ticket. When Father Kirby goes for a beer, I advise two other seat mates of my new friend’s vocation. “That’s OK,” says the older of the two, “I’m a Methodist minister and my son here is a minister, too.” San Francisco clobbers the Pirates, 10-2, Giant pitcher Kirk Reuter has three hits for four RBI and right-fielder Rios dives into the stands for a two-out foul with a nine-run lead in the eighth.

RIVERFRONT STADIUM, CINCINNATI, MAY 30, 2001 — We’re visiting cousins with seats behind the screen. I move down to take a picture and just as the usher rebukes me, Sammy Sosa hits one out of the park. My throwaway camera catches him crossing the plate.

OLYMPIC STADIUM, MONTREAL, JULY 5, 2001 — Bleary-eyed, one-day rail round-trip out of Oakville after pursing an escaped kitty cat ‘til 3 a.m. Reverse-scalped a ticket for $5 CDN, Expos outlast Marlins 9-6 before 5,253 fugitives in a dimly-lit garbage bag, highlighted only by the excellence of national anthems singer Cortland Wood, who turned out to hail from Albany.

VETERANS STADIUM, PHILADELPHIA, APRIL 24, 2002 — Padres drub the Phillies 7-2 and I blow $15 to cut a play-by-play tape for half an inning, watching closed-circuit TV. Still have the tape, all six pitches.

FENWAY PARK, SEPT. 7, 2005 — En route to a niece’s wedding, we reserve the last available ticket, one row behind the Sox dugout alongside a fellow with a fleeting-fame fetish. “Stand here,” he bellows, “you’ll be on TV.” I demur: “Been there, done that, and anyway my wife’s watching the game in our hotel.” Reply: “Great, then she’ll see you’re at the game!” My last stand: “She thinks I’m at a bawdy house in Swamscott. If she sees me in Fenway Park she’ll lock the door.” Game over. Big Pappy raps a gapper and the Red Sox prevail 6-3.

In short, all photos aside, nothing captures the rapture like recollections of the people you meet at the game.

Contact Doug Smith at pollyndoug@hotmail.com.