In Brooklyn’s Prospect Park on Saturday morning, past the children splashing in the playground and downhill from the picnic area where eager locals laid out blankets and set up barbecues, 42-year-old former Major League All-Star Cliff Floyd made his return to baseball on a field with no home run fence, no foul lines, and no scoreboard in front of a scattered crowd of about 50 — many of whom just happened to be sitting there.

“It was good, man,” Floyd said after the game. “I think the big thing is, when you get out here — the pine tar, the fellas — you sort of get past the whole thing, that everybody wants you to be out here on the team. You actually want to play.”

Floyd, now an analyst for MLB Network, joined my weekly pickup game and put up about the most impressive 1-for-6 performance anyone could remember in the game’s nine-year history. Presumably unaccustomed to facing fastballs in the high 60s, the veteran of parts of 17 big-league seasons hit grounders to the right side of the infield in his first five at-bats. One took a big hop and jumped over the second baseman for Floyd’s lone hit of the day. Another smacked a baserunner unprepared for big-league exit velocity.

“I couldn’t get out of the way,” said Dr. Milo Vassallo, a 44-year-old allergist and the game’s winning pitcher. “I feel guilty I cost him a hit, but it’s his fault for hitting the ball too hard.”

In most of his plate appearances, Floyd faced the overshifted infield defense that is now frequently employed against lefty pull hitters in the Majors, and which represents perhaps the primary common strategic difference in baseball since Floyd last played with the Padres in 2009. This game’s similarities to its big-league counterpart end there: We make plenty of errors, practically no one gets caught stealing, the best pitchers are typically also the best hitters, and double plays are usually celebrated by both teams for offering brief glimpses of good baseball.

We started playing a loosely organized regular game in the summer of 2007. The need for general bylaws and permits ultimately necessitated some more formalities, like a proper name — “Brooklyn Ramblers Baseball Club” — and a couple of cardinal rules: Play hard and be cool.

But the game remains a low-key affair featuring guys from a wide range of skill levels. A few of our regulars played college ball, but before Floyd, no one with any professional experience had ever participated. And since the game’s earliest days, we have wondered what it would look like if a big-leaguer came and joined us.

“It’s hard to articulate how awesome this was for me, to get to pitch to Cliff Floyd,” said Dave Johnson, a 44-year-old furniture maker and the game’s primary organizer and pitcher. “I was terrified to throw him a pitch that looked the same twice, because I pictured he is like The Terminator in his head, instantly recognizing and committing to memory every single pitch that I throw him. Then the moment arrived, Cliff Floyd now standing in the batters box and I’m about to pitch to him, it was a once-in-a-lifetime feeling. I had to try to blur out his ridiculously imposing figure and try to focus on my catcher.”

At 6-5 and still in playing shape, Floyd appeared built on a different scale than the rest of us. His smooth uppercut swing turned heads for its beauty and its ferocity even when he swung and missed. In his final at-bat, he hit a towering fly ball — “About halfway to Queens,” as pitcher Brian Plumacher put it — that fell into the glove of a right fielder who knew well enough to play extremely deep.

“His bat speed stood out to me — the solid contact and the speed and power of his ground balls,” said Steve Loff, a 41-year-old film industry professional. “His swing and miss on the first pitch of his final at bat, it made a real sound, and I swear I felt a breeze. I never witnessed a swing and miss like that up close.”

“The most impressive thing to me was how much smaller the field was to Cliff than it was to any of us,” said Josh Ellis, a 30-year-old bartender. “It seemed like he could jog to first base in six steps and still beat out a grounder, or effortlessly zip the ball on a line, two hundred feet from left, to put out a baserunner. It’s one thing to meet someone at the pinnacle of their profession, but it’s an entirely different thing altogether to actually see them perform up close.”

Floyd played nine innings’ worth of flawless defense in left field, by no means a given at the level. He even showed off his arm late in the game, uncorking a perfect one-hop throw to home plate that might have nailed a tagging baserunner if I didn’t misplay it and have it bounce off my catcher’s mitt.

“No matter what, if I’m playing, I’m playing to win,” Floyd said. “I’ve played softball, but it’s not the same. When you actually get on the field and play some hardball, with some guys who have been playing or have played before, you get dialed in.”

It stands as a testament to the sport that a player of Floyd’s caliber could play so far below his level, play his hardest, and not completely dictate the game’s outcome. Though Floyd contributed to his team’s 14-6 victory, some guessed that, due to his world-class athleticism, he might have had a bigger impact on the final score if he joined us for a game of football or basketball or soccer.

Baseball runs on randomness, and sometimes some regular guys can randomly hold a man with a lifetime .840 Major League OPS to a 1-for-6 day. Jeremy Krausher, a 28-year-old education administrator and center fielder, provided the game’s biggest hit: An inside-the-park home run that eluded a diving outfielder and scored Floyd from second.

“Seeing him waiting to give me a low-five as I crossed the plate — it kind of felt like a video-game scenario,” Krausher said. “Cliff was one of my heroes on the Mets during the 2000s, so this was the closest I’ll ever get to being Carlos Beltran.”

And it stands as a testament to Floyd himself that a player with his resume could join a bunch of baseball-loving strangers and impress them as much with his personality and attitude as he did with his bat and glove.

Floyd, known as a popular clubhouse figure in his playing days, is objectively an excellent guy to be around, and never seemed inclined to big-league anyone even though he earned that right by definition. He hustled on every play, he yelled out from left field in support of his pitchers, he chatted up his teammates in the dugout, and he patiently posed for pictures and signed autographs after the game ended.

“Baseball is basically the same game no matter what level you play at,” said MetalSucks.net co-editor-in-chief Ben Umanov, 33. “When you play at the amateur level like we do, you figure there are certain things you do — that you’ve been doing since tee ball — that major leaguers stop doing at some point along the way.

“But hearing Cliff Floyd shout from the dugout, ‘here we go, Ben, keep it going!’ as I stepped to the plate, and, conversely, making sure he knew how many outs there were after he singled and advanced to second, felt completely natural, and was an incredibly humbling experience.”

“The coolest thing about playing with Cliff was how much fun he was obviously having playing with us, and what a great attitude he had,” said 43-year-old musician Ezra Gale. “He was just one of the guys, sitting on the bench, shooting the (expletive). Watching his swing was amazing: It was big and smooth. But I think I learned more just talking to him.”

“We’ve played with guys that were prima donnas and excuse-makers and poor sports, but here is an actual former Met, and a great one, and he’s out there flagging down foul balls, getting genuinely excited by other guys’ great plays and saying that he needs a couple more games to get his timing back,” said Eban Singer, a 30-year-old architect. “As awesome as it was to see the difference of a Major League ball player — the crack of the bat, his effortless arm, swallowing up the basepath simply jogging — it was more striking how much he fit in.”

Floyd said the game reminded him of the sandlot games he played while growing up in Chicago’s south suburbs.

“This is different than playing in the big leagues,” he said. “This is back where my roots started. This is about getting your boys, on a Saturday afternoon in the summertime, and getting after it — and everybody thinking they were better than the next guy.”

In this case, though, no one left thinking he was better than a big-leaguer even after the 1-for-6 performance.

“Playing with a Major Leaguer reminded me that I really am short, fat, and slow,” said Jon Wilcon, a 29-year-old preparing for the bar exam. “Playing with the Ramblers every week, I had almost forgotten, and started to think of myself as a good athlete. But thanks to Cliff, my self-esteem is now back in the basement where it belongs.”