Why sports mean so much to me
I am a sports guy.
I love the history and the drama. I love the pomp, the circumstance and the pageantry. Sport provides theater for those who would rather not watch theater. It brings grace and beauty to those who might not seek it otherwise.
Of all the sports that I love – and there are many – baseball holds a special place in my heart.
I played little league. I wasn’t what you would call “good,” but I understood the game. My teacher carried a deep and intense passion.
My father was my coach. He umpired when he wasn’t coaching. He lived on ball diamonds in the summer, but my fondest baseball memories involve sitting with my dad watching the Reds.
We went to as many games as possible, but more often than not, we sat at home and watched on TV. My dad would always turn the television volume down and listen to the radio broadcast on 700 WLW. To this day, when I hear Marty Brennaman’s voice, I am taken back to those nights and afternoons watching baseball with my dad.
It seems like forever since my dad passed away. I miss him everyday, but spring makes it even worse. This was his favorite time of year. Spring Training kicks off and basketball winds down. March Madness leads straight into opening day.
I swore I would never watch baseball again after the strike-shortened season of 1994. That season’s World Series was cancelled. It was the first time that had happened since 1904. Not even World War II caused the fall classic to be canceled. I still pulled for the Reds, but for many years after 1994, baseball fell off my radar.
It wasn’t until I started playing fantasy baseball that the bug bit me again. Suddenly, I couldn’t get enough baseball. I was watching every game – even ones not involving the Reds. I became a stat junkie. I followed players and teams like never before. At first, it was just because of my unhealthy addiction to fantasy sports, but then I began to feel a deeper connection.
I was watching a Reds game last year when the camera cut to a fan in the stands. Three little girls surrounded him – I’m assuming his daughters – and the announcer said something to the effect of “there is no place on earth that man would rather be right now.” I smiled and then got choked up.
I started remembering all the times I sat next to my dad at a Reds game. I remembered when he showed me how to keep score and when he would pound his fist on the coffee table when we watched at home as the opposing team scored a run. I remembered the feeling of joy when Marty Brennaman would say “… and this one belongs to the Reds” after every victory and I remembered my dad’s smile.
I hadn’t thought about it in so long, but sitting there, watching three girls climb all over their dad – talking about God knows what – I instantly saw my dad’s smile. My dad and I shared baseball. The game drew us together and even though he is gone, baseball still reminds me of the greatest man I have ever known.
I am a sports guy. I love sports for many reasons, but more than anything, it connects me to my past. It brings my dad and memories of him back to me.
The theater of sport is full of triumph and tragedy. In a world full of uncertainty, it provides levity. There are winners and losers. No matter how bad real life gets, you can always root for the home team to pull you through the rough patches.