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All right, sports fans. It’s that time of the year again: the smell of freshly mowed grass, the “thump” of genuine leather mitts, the “ping” of double-walled aluminum alloy on a horsehide Rawlings. It’s college baseball time.

With nothing better to do on a Friday night, my brother and I wanted to catch our first game of the season. The problem is, UCLA didn’t have one on Friday, and I wasn’t going to make the Saturday alumni game.

So we called our buddy Neil, who plays shortstop for the then-No. 4 Cal State Fullerton, and told him we were coming to his game against No. 25 University of Nevada -Las Vegas that night. Neil put us on his pass list, so our tickets were waiting for us at will call.

Walking through Fullerton’s parking lot, we noticed a large truck surrounded by less-than-sober students. Without an on-campus stadium, this is something you don’t see at UCLA.

In the bed of the truck was a cooler with lots and lots of “apple juice.” One of the guys approached us and asked whom we were cheering for.

“UCLA,” I replied.

The guy then slurred: “We’ll pay you $200 to streak across the field naked with that deer head.”

Deer head?

Sure enough, in the back of the truck was a stuffed deer head.

“Buddy, we’re sober,” my brother informed him. “That means you have to pay for bail, too.”

Although he agreed, we decided we needed a police record a lot less than we needed $200, so we continued to will call.

There, I walked up to the table like a big shot and said: “Yeah, we’re on Neil Walton’s list.”

“Who?” replied the girl behind the table.

“Neil Walton,” I repeated.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

I looked at her to see if she was serious. She was.

“He’s your starting shortstop,” I said.

Cal State Fullerton has won three national championships. This school lives and breathes the national pastime. Everybody knows the starting shortstop’s name.

How embarrassing for Neil.

We finally got inside the ballpark and saw something you won’t find anytime soon at Jackie Robinson Stadium.

Nearly 2,000 people were there for the Titans’ home opener. By contrast, 367 witnessed the Bruins’ home opener v. UC Riverside. (In UCLA’s defense, it was on a Tuesday.)

Sorority girls showed up in hordes, hugging each other to generate body heat in the chilly night air. Most sorority girls at UCLA don’t know where Jackie Robinson Stadium is.

Fraternity guys guzzled beer along the third base line while heckling UNLV’s third base coach. They don’t even sell beer at UCLA baseball games.

Little Leaguers sought autographs from former Fullerton stars like Chad Cordero, a first-round draft pick of the Montreal Expos. When a group of kids returned with their hats signed, one turned to the other and asked: “So who was that guy?”

“I don’t know,” the other answered. “Somebody Cordova.”

My brother and I sat there, eating sunflower seeds until our mouths were raw, and watched my toes turn blue. Not a wise decision to wear sandals to a night game.

At some point, a Fullerton pitcher recorded the team’s seventh strikeout, earning free Klondike Ice Cream Bars for the crowd. It was 40 degrees out, and by now, I couldn’t feel my face, not to mention my toes. And they gave out ice cream. How about a cup of hot cocoa? Still, I jumped around like a fool until I got one. Then I put the ice cream on my feet to warm them up.

With the bases loaded in the bottom of the 11th, Fullerton executed a suicide squeeze. The runner scored. Players and fans went apestuff. Ballgame over. Drive home safely.

What an experience to start off my baseball season – too bad it couldn’t happen at UCLA.

E-mail Karon at ekaron@media.ucla.edu