Capogna’s Dugout in Clearwater is closing. We say a teary goodbye.

It’s a Friday night in 2006. I’m 11 years old. I’m on either the best or second-best team in Clearwater Little League, depending on the week.

We’re playing our rivals at the Sid Lickton sports complex. It’s the sixth inning, we’re down to our final out, and I’m the last hope.

I pop out meekly to second base. The game ends, I numbly shake hands with the boys on the other team, and my dad shepherds me into the car.

I start to cry. Dad gives me a pep talk. I don’t recall most of it, but I do remember one thing: “Let’s go drown our sorrows in chicken wings and baked ziti,” he says.

That Friday was a Capogna’s Dugout night. Most every Friday Little League night was — for me and for decades of other kids who lived in north Pinellas.

On Sunday, the owners of the Gulf to Bay Boulevard sports bar announced they would close after 52 years. The economy and the recent hurricanes had dealt “a hit we cannot recover from,” they said. No more ziti, no more doors with baseball bats for handles, no more kids in uniforms running around the parking lot like maniacs.

I still remember the first time I tried the breadsticks, served in portions big enough to feed the entire batting order, along with a vat of marinara sauce. You don’t forget that first hit of garlic.

Outside of Little League, we placed takeout orders of their wings, the breadiest in town. They became a staple of birthday parties, and my family’s cure for minor squabbles. So what if too many gave you a stomachache?

It’s a strange thing, being from Pinellas County. The place is old enough now to have had several generations born and bred here, but there’s no regional identity. Outsiders bring their slice of America here and hold onto it. Our baseball team’s stadium is mostly empty on summer nights. We have no mass transit, and no major landmarks beyond natural beauty or oddities like the first Hooters.

Gov. Ron DeSantis, who was raised in Dunedin, hardly ever talks about his hometown. In his book, he claimed his upbringing embodied the hard-working towns of Pennsylvania and Ohio. In some ways, I’m no better. My dad raised me to be a Red Sox fan.

Have you ever met someone here from Boston or Chicago or Philly who doesn’t mention their city every five seconds?

I think those big cities must have a Capogna’s on every block. A place where starch and grease binds together the community. Cavernous dining halls lined with photos of old friends and familiar strangers, where you can scooch a chair up to a packed table and remember being 11.

Tampa Bay has one fewer place like that now. And in the wake of two hurricanes, I feel like I’m in the backseat of my dad’s car again, fighting back tears.