But the field of dreams is not as certain as it once was, nor is it immune from "these difficult times," to employ a phrase that is quickly becoming as tired as an aging pitcher's arm.

After an off-season beset with drug scandals (New York Yankees megastar Alex Rodriguez admitted that he tested positive for steroids in 2003) and outrageous payouts (again, those damn Yankees, who plunked down $423-million in salary to free agents this winter), Baseball faces a tough battle to keep fans during the worst economic recession since the days of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig.

A sport with a history as long as Baseball's has naturally encountered hard times before. After the golden age of sport in the 1920s - the decade of the Sultan of Swat, Yankee Stadium and full houses - the Great Depression delivered a jolt to the game that stung like a bean ball.

Attendance, which peaked at 10.1 million in 1930, dropped by 40 per cent over the ensuing three years, affecting all 16 major league teams. While there was a modest uptick in attendance in 1934 and 1935, it was not until after the Second World War that the number of "bums in seats" surpassed 10 million again.

Teams were forced to cut costs. Rosters were trimmed to 23 from 25 players, and stars were sold to raise cash. Players' salaries were slashed by 25 per cent during the Depression's early years, and the Yankees' Mr. Ruth, the greatest player of his era, and by far the highest paid, went from making $80,000 in 1930 to $35,000 in 1934.

As Baseball Magazine put it then: "Babe now knows what millions of others have found out, how it seems to take a 50- per-cent cut."

An aside: In 1930, in one of the many great anecdotes from the time, the celebrated slugger was told that his $80,000 salary was greater than the president's. How could he justify making more than Herbert Hoover, he was asked? "I had a better year than he did," Mr. Ruth was purported to have said.

If necessity is the mother of invention, then the Depression certainly contributed to some creative thinking by ball clubs desperate to get fans through the turnstiles. Much of the experimentation came from Baseball's numerous minor leagues, which were devastated even more than the majors.

Ohio University historian Charles C. Alexander, author of the 2002 book Breaking the Slump: Baseball in the Depression Era , noted that minor league clubs held raffles and beauty and ugly contests, introduced night games and playoffs, and even had cow-milking contests.

In one stunt, a St. Louis Cardinals farm team in Huntington, W.Va., hired famous burlesque dancer Sally Rand. She was photographed from a variety of angles autographing a Baseball, which was then given to the "loudest rooter" at the game.

In other examples, on Blue Shirt Night, anyone wearing a blue shirt was admitted at a reduced price and Family Night allowed fathers to bring a brood of any size for a flat fee of 40 cents.

Virtually any manner of promotion was up for consideration and the stunts remain an integral part of minor league ball today. In fact, this year, the Joliet Jackhammers of the Northern League (the same loop as the Winnipeg Goldeyes) offered disgraced former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich an opportunity to play for them if he was willing to pay for the chance.

The major leagues also got creative in the Depression, if less eccentric. They hired press agents and promoters. One of the St. Louis Cardinals' most successful promotions was Town Night. If any town bought at least 100 tickets, its mayor would throw out the first pitch and its band would play on the infield before the game began.

Night Baseball came to the big leagues in 1935, when president Franklin D. Roosevelt flipped a switch from the White House to bring light to Crosley Field in Cincinnati. The Reds would play seven "floodlighted" games that year, beginning a new, and successful, trend.

Mr. Roosevelt also threw the ceremonial pitch at the first all-star game in major league history, held in Chicago to coincide with that city's Century of Progress Exposition in 1933. The game was an instant hit and remained a mainstay of the game.

The impact of the Depression was obviously felt in Canada too. In 1932, the Toronto Maple Leafs of the AAA International League drew just 50,000 fans the entire year, having attracted a record 220,000 in 1926.

As Yogi Berra, the famous Yankee catcher and master of the malapropism, noted: "If people don't want to come out to the ballpark, how are you going to stop them?"

Night Baseball came to Canada too, and letters to the editor fretted over the possibility of Sunday Baseball - another attempt to lure fans -mirroring a similar debate south of the border. "[Night Baseball], I hold, would lower the standard of morality and spoil entirely the good name of the City of Toronto," an exasperated Colin Campbell opined.

So, what will Baseball do this time around? The situations are not exactly alike, but teams will have to work harder to get the fans' entertainment dollars.

The Toronto Blue Jays seem plugged into the zeitgeist. The team's "value games" are being promoted under the title Messin' With Recession. Fans can purchase reduced-priced tickets for a selection of four different games when hot dogs will sell for a loonie and a special souvenir will go for $4.

Every team has a promotional angle of some sort, whether it is All You Can Eat Thursdays with the Houston Astros or Stitch and Pitch with the Milwaukee Brewers (needlepoint enthusiasts get a good seat for $24). The Jays also have their Dog Day, when fans can bring their canine Baseball aficionado.

If Baseball really cared about its fans, though, it would consider bringing back the scheduled double-header, another product of the 1930s. The capacity to play two games in the same day is a unique advantage Baseball has over other professional sports, and fans love it.

But with millions of dollars tied up in arms and bats, and the gap that has developed over the decades between fans and the corporate entity that Major League Baseball has become, it is unlikely that peanuts and Cracker Jack will be spilling over into a second game in one day any time soon.

Nevertheless, there is always hope - and that is what the promise of a new Baseball season is all about.

J.D.M. Stewart teaches Canadian history at Bishop Strachan School in Toronto. He still holds a candle for the Montreal Expos.