A Thank You To My Dad

On June 26, 1988, my dad pushed me in a stroller to my first Yankees game. I was 4 1/2 years old so the only reason I was even able to remember the date was because of the Beach Boys concert that followed the game (and I became a big fan of "Kokomo"). The Yankees beat the Indians in the bottom of the ninth on a game winning single from Claudell Washington off Bud Black (Dave Righetti was the winning pitching). And my love for baseball started. 

I'm not going to say that I wouldn't have been into sports had it not been for my dad, but I'm pretty sure it would have never been this great a love or something I put as much passion and energy into as I do. From as long as I can remember, we would drive with WFAN on in the car, we would be talking about sports, and the living room would be filled with Yankees/Giants/Knicks/Rangers broadcasters. 

My first real memory of going to Yankee Stadium was for the Cub Scouts in kindergarten or first grade. We went on an amazingly hot day which just so happened to be hat day. My dad was a chaperone and he was pouring water on my head to keep me cool. The problem was that the hats were so cheaply made, that the dye ran all over my face. In our seats right behind home plate in the tier reserved section 1, I didn't really care because I was enjoying myself so much.

I would go to many more Yankee games with my dad throughout the years. We sat in a mostly empty park and watched Jim Abbot throw a no hitter in 1994. We saw my favorite player, Don Mattingly, navigate that bag at first like I don't think I've seen a player do since. In 1995, we broke my first Yom Kippur fast at Yankee Stadium while watchings Game 2 of the ALDS in some of the worst seats in the old stadium. When Don Mattingly hit a homerun into the October night, beer flew into the sky all over the cast on my arm. I couldn't care one bit; as the stands shook, I had my first amazing taste of October baseball.

We would go back to October a few times the next few years, but none probably more memorable than two consecutive games in 1998. My dad and I had waited in line for hours to get tickets for the ALCS and finally got 4 tickets for Game 6. My dad, aunt, cousin and I would sit right on the right field wall in foul territory.

There we would heckle Indians rightfielder Manny Ramirez with a few other fans. They yelled at Manny "let's meet at Jimmy's Bronx Cafe", a place I recognized from my drives down the Major Deegan to the Stadium. We were relentless to Manny. And then, in a crutial spot in the game, Derek Jeter hit a smash to right field. We got up thinking it was gone. So did Manny who climbed the wall. The ball never got that far. It landed at his feet. After that play, we heckled Manny more than ever. And he finally just looked at us with his hands on his hips and stared. Mariano Rivera would then come in and close out the ALCS. The whole crowd celebrated. And we will always claim the reason Manny missed that ball was because of us.

A few nights later my aunt and cousin would return the favor and bring me to Game 1 of the World Series, the only World Series game I've ever been to. The one person missing from that game was my dad. He let me take his ticket. Although the Yankees staged a historic, dramatic comeback against San Diego, and I celebrated in a shaking stands with a crowd that supposedly could be heard more than 30 blocks away, I felt a little odd that I couldn't celebrate the victory with my dad.

We would return to the stadium many more times. No matter how many times I would go to the Stadium in a season, I would still get this tingly feeling walking out to the stands and seeing that unbelievably green grass.

But some things changed. Although we had seen a lot of winning, we were at Yankee Stadium for the worst of bad losses: Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS to the Red Sox. Jimmy's Bronx cafe is now, *gulp*, a Dallas BBQ. When I left for college, our constant sports discussions were conducted over the phone and, when I went abroad for a semester, Skype. Last year I got to go to the All Star Game and the last game at the old Yankee Stadium. And like too many games recently, unfortunately neither one was with my dad.

But I'm returning the favor he gave me 21 years ago. My dad took me to my first game at the old stadium, and I am taking him to his first game at the new stadium tomorrow (unfortunately he could not make it tonight so I had to go with a friend).

I don't think I would have loved sports as much without him (and therefore, this blog probably would have never happened). As the sun finally comes out, I now realize I'm about to experience something amazing and that I'll share with my children and their children. And I don't think I would have ever had this opporunity without my dad. So, dad, I want to thank you.

-Andrew