Some random thoughts from the past week:

— Last Friday night, I was watching highlights on the MLB Network, waiting for the Dodgers-Cubs to start.

The prized clip was a baseball rarity … a walk-off balk as the Reds beat the Rays, 2-1.

But what caught my attention was the player who scored the run, Mark Kolosvary.

“Wait a second,” I thought, “that’s the catcher from the University of Florida who helped lead the Olean Oilers to that 39-7 regular-season record and a playoff sweep en route to the 2016 New York Collegiate Baseball League title.

Indeed, Kolosvary became the first Oiler to make the major leagues when Cincinnati called him up last season.

What amused me was, on Friday night, Kolosvary was a pinch runner, starting the 10th inning at second base under MLB’s extra-inning rules. And though he has the cliched “good speed for a catcher,” it wasn’t needed as the balk gave him a free pass home after being bunted to third.

But that episode recalled my favorite baseball story.

Back in 1963, the Mets, managed by the iconic Casey Stengel, were in their second year of existence. They traded for a catcher named Jesse Gonder, who played for the Yankees among other teams.

His reputation was that of a solid hitter with unusual speed for his position, but was substandard defensively.

One day, a reporter asked Casey about Gonder’s unique quickness and he replied in his dead-pan style, “Yeah, he’s the fastest catcher I ever saw running after a passed ball.”

— Lately, it’s occurred to me that a once-love affair with a sport has been missing for years.

There was a time when, after racquetball, tennis was my favorite participatory sport.

Back in the late ’70s and early ’80s the place our family rented in Maine coincided with the Wimbledon men’s and women’s final. The cottage didn’t have a TV so the Saturday and Sunday of the finals, I’d ride my bike to downtown York Beach, find an open restaurant with a deserted bar, turn on its TV and watch the Wimbledon championship matches.

For me, it was must-see television.

In recent years, I’ve seen a few points, but not enough to equal a single full match.

Clearly, tennis has been waning in popularity for several decades. There’s a reason NBC stopped live coverage in 2011 and ABC resumed it only this year. In between, ESPN carried Wimbledon’s water and even now still carries most of the matches.

Back when I was a fan, talented Americans were among the sport’s elite — Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe, Chris Evert and naturalized Martina Navratilova, a native of Czechoslovakia — all not only had tremendous skills, but also big, charismatic personalities.

These days tennis is loaded with cookie-cutter players, including those from the U.S., who have awesome ability but don’t much move the appeal-o-meter.

It’s a reality with which men’s golf is dealing. There are no Arnold Palmers or Lee Trevinos and not enough John Dalys and Tiger Woods whom we love, or love to hate, that ring the TV ratings bell. There’s so much money at stake, the cost is the loss of genuine personality from the PGA and, ultimately, fans’ affection for the game.

— Speaking of disappearing “sports” — a word with which its critics would disagree — greyhound racing is virtually dead.

It was introduced to me about 40 years ago in Maine as there was a track at nearby Seabrook, N.H. and I became a weekly regular until it was banned at virtually every New England facility in 2008.

Still, whenever the Bills played in Miami, Tampa or Jacksonville, I sought out the nearest track the night before the game. However, the last of the dozen Florida facilities closed two years ago and when this year ends, a track in Arkansas will close meaning 45 of the 47 U.S. facilities will be out of business.

I know the arguments, the concern about the greyhounds being abused or drugged and, in fairness, most of the closures have been the result of voter mandates.

Still, as a dog lover, I choose to take the myopic — some would say hypocritical — view and prefer to believe it doesn’t happen frequently.

These days, only two greyhound tracks remain, both in West Virginia, Wheeling Downs, which I visit when the Bills travel to Pittsburgh, and Mardi Gras, just outside of Charleston.

Several years ago, Seabrook added simulcasts of Wheeling and Mardi Gras and, I admit, once a week while in Maine, I head there to “wager on the dogs,” my myopia firmly in place.

But every now and then, I’m given pause.

Friday night at Buffalo Raceway, in the third race, a trotter named Hard Handed Hannah shattered a hind leg heading into the stretch run and was euthanized.

It was a sad reminder that any time animals are raced, there’s a risk.

(Chuck Pollock, a Times Herald senior sports columnist, can be reached at cpollock@oleantimesherald.com)