Resurrect these parts of baseball's history

	You'd think millionaire pitchers would want to be driven to the mound. Rich Kee/LA Dodgers

VH-1 was right all along: We really do love the '80s. From throwbacks to turn-back-the-clocks, baseball fans wax nostalgic so often that the sport is suffering from wax buildup. The only things we like more than the baseball game we're watching now are the baseball games we watched years ago. The Mets had a big reunion this weekend to commemorate the 1986 World Series team, and they sold out the stadium. Is there any other sport that loves its past like baseball does?

Sure, there are things to miss about the good ole days of other sports, too, like barefoot kickers, hockey players crazy enough not to wear helmets, and team names that are plural (we still haven't found an acceptable singular version of Jazz, Wild, Heat or Lightning). But it's baseball's past that tugs hardest at my heartstrings. As much as I love the product that's on the field right now, I wouldn't mind seeing certain parts of the game's history get turned back into current events.

I miss the days when players had cool nicknames, like Doctor K and Oil Can Boyd and the Mad Hungarian and Dr. Strangeglove. Forget anything as poetic as the Splendid Splinter; we don't even bother to call lefties "Lefty" anymore. Granted, not all old-time nicknames were winners: I'll give you one guess how "Fat" Freddie Fitzsimmons and Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown got theirs. But Jeff "Bags" Bagwell? We can do better, people.

I miss organ music. Never in my life have I had any desire to hear someone playing an organ anywhere else, but for some reason it just feels right at a ball game.

I miss players who wore big, thick eyeglasses on the field. Today, guys like Darrell Porter and Tom Henke would either get Lasik or get passed over in the draft, but back then they gave hope to nearsighted dorks everywhere.

I miss bullpen carts. Sure, they were a pretty dumb idea, but they were the Zambonis of baseball -- slow-moving but inexplicably cool. If any major league executives are reading this, please dust off the bullpen carts and trot them out every now and then, just for fun. And if not, then please oh please hand me the keys. I'd give it a good, loving home, especially if I can fit its giant baseball cap roof through my garage door.

I miss knowing how to spell "Ueberroth."