Anyone have any cool stories about sports and your Dad?

[JasonBanz]

Awesome stories guys! My Dad and I more relate on football than any other sport. I'm only 23 and my Dad is 44 so there isn't a huge gap between us. When I was around 6 or 7 my Dad took me to a Dolphins game in Baltimore when they were having a bring the ball to Baltimore campaign. They played the Saints and got beat, I remember very little but I do remember the nose bleed seats! A fews years later in 1994 I saw the first Shula Bowl when the Dolphins played the Bengals in Cincinnati on Sunday Night Football. The Dolphins won and I was happy to be far away from home. We've gone to a few other games in Baltimore, New York, and Washington. We are planning a trip to Miami this year. My first trip to Miami, and his third. It's going to be a great time!

[jobathenut]

Great thread jason-I saw this and a smile came to my face.Like i've said i just love to remember my dad and talk about him.He was the one that passed down the love of the yankees to me and my one brother.And we carry that on for him to this day.And i'm sure to alot of people this will sound stubid,but whenever the yankees are playing on t.v.We always keep his chair open that he would sit in to watch the games with us.I still feel him with me watching the games.In fact as i mentioned in the one thread.Me and my brother made our first ever road trip and first time to see the yankees play in person in cleveland in 2006.It was a dream for my dad to see them play in person so we did it for him.Anyway,on the 4th of july game,that was the game the yankees got blown out by the indians.And it was clear skys and then it turned cloudy and rained.And both me and my brother just turned to each other and did'nt say a word but i knew he was thinking what i was.Again i knew it sounds foolish,but it was like my dad was watching the game and was upset just like me and my brother was.It was strange that it rained like that.Anyways,jason thanks for the posts and this thread.

Jobathenut and I were trading a few stories on another forum and thought I would start a forum on my own. I know sports is a good way for a father and son can connect. I would love to hear some of the stories of you and your Das!

[gingi79]

I apologize now, mine is a real "story". The length is huge but it makes me smile to read. I hope all of you who choose to read it, find a moment like this one. It's early, but Happy Father's Day to you and your Dads.


My Dad, Bill Russell and the Rooster.

I admit that before I went to the book signing tonight, I knew precious little about the man I was about to meet. Sure, I knew he wore number #6 for a Boston Celtics Dynasty. I knew he had played basketball for USF. I knew he was a very large, very black man with very white beard. And I knew Bill Russell wouldn’t sign an autograph for God.
Before we left, I felt a slight ping of anxiety hoping it wouldn’t be like another, much less talented athlete was at his signing a year ago at the same Book Revue. Lenny Dykstra, a man who so obviously took steroids during his career and is mired in no less than 12 lawsuits now over his suspect business practices, signed autographs of his memoir “Nails” as if he was a POW in Nazi Germany. Stories of that “signing” were legendary in the Autograph collecting world as it was a repeat performance. Apparently Lenny had a habit of refusing to sign anything but the book, with only his name and never once looking up at the person who had stood in line for his scribble.
Expecting this type of environment but no less excited, I left home with my dad for a little dinner and then on to Huntington. While we were waiting for our meal at Regal Deli, I started to wonder to myself why it had been so important for my father to attend this book signing. I remembered a few years back when we visited my best friend in Boston that obtaining a picture of Red Aurebach’s statue as it sat on its bench was paramount to anything else. Knowing he was a lifelong New York Knicks fan, this need to relate now to a second lifetime Boston Celtic seemed contradictory. As a fan of many teams myself, I cannot think of a situation where I would go to a New York Jets or New York Rangers book signing. So as I sat there in our small booth, chewing on a frankfurter, I began to ponder what deeper meaning this encounter held for him.
I knew certain truths about my father that might have contributed to the night that lay before us. For one, my dad was once a very big basketball fan, following the Knicks for years and dragging my mother to MSG to watch them in the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. I knew he had become disenchanted and disassociated with the current incantation of the NBA, their apparent lack of defense and me-first attitudes. Money is the only loyalty today’s players feel obligated to. As I expanded this thought and how different basketball was when he had paid the most attention, I realized that his teams in other sports were different as well. After all, the New York Giants were still playing in the huge bathtub referred to as the Polo Grounds then. Jackie Robinson had shown the ultimate team loyalty when he retired from the game rather than report to the Giants. He was a Dodger and could never play for their rivals. Considering that over 50 players have played for the Yankees and the Mets in my lifetime, I wondered if it was a longing for a simpler time that drew my dad to Huntington tonight.
On the other hand, I also knew that Bill Russell’s book was about Red. Much like Russell, I knew nothing about the man other than the fact he was short and Jewish and won more titles than he had fingers. Well, that and the fact he had a statue of himself sitting on a bench smoking a cigar in Boston. Why these men were so compelling to my father, I wondered as we walked past a Cinco de Mayo celebration at Pancho Villas next door to the Revue.
As we entered the store, I was more amazed by the lack of attention that this signing had generated than anything else. Reviewing eBay, there was not a single signed item less than $600. He wasn’t charging anything for the signing and autograph collectors should have been flocking to get their goodies. When the pleasant young lady explained there were rules, part of my excitement waned and my stomach dropped hoping my father wouldn’t be disappointed. After all, meeting Bill Russell was obviously very important to my dad even if I couldn’t put my finger on why yet. As we listened to the bookstore clerk explain, our rules were simple. She stated Bill would only sign his book, no memorabilia. He would customize each book which I knew was a safeguard from people selling his autograph and making free money off of him. No stopping for pictures but you could take pictures while he signed. It was all as clear as day but all I could see was; “Lenny Dykstra doesn’t look up, he just scribbles and pushes the book to you without so much as a grunt” I didn’t want to dilute my father’s excitement so I kept this little tidbit to myself. But as I climbed the stairs to the second floor, part of me felt deflated that it would surely disappoint my dad.
On line, we met a bunch of other people who somehow felt the need to talk to my father. In front of us was an autograph collector who obviously felt a great swell of pride when discussing, in graphic detail, his immense collection. Not to be outdone was another collector next to him who attempted to usurp the personalization by pretending not to know who he wanted the book signed to. Believing himself clever and crippled by an inability to shut his mouth, he pontificated his opinions and attempted to dazzle anyone who would listen with his faux wittiness. I thought that surely we wouldn’t find any other people of his caliber on this line but I was sadly mistaken.
Directly behind us was a drunken Irishman from Boston who whipped out an old ball cap purported to be signed by Celtics of the past. He felt compelled to regal us with its signatures, unsolicited mind you and simply refused to stop bending my father’s ear about whatever nonsense expelled from his mouth. He discussed sports in great detail but without insight. He spoke of other signings he went to both of athletes and of adult film stars. He explained that Kobe Tai, a beautiful Korean porn star had offered to let him hold her breasts for a picture and he happily did so. Looking the man over I was struck by the fact she was not only the most beautiful creature who ever spoke to him but probably the furthest he had ever gone with a woman as well. Not to be outdone, a plump and arrogant man came waltzing by and stopped to speak to the collector in front of us. They were old friends and you could see they each suffered from a combination of entitlement crammed inside of a hustler. Collecting autographs from my youth I could spot these people from a block away. They believe athletes owe them something for paying for tickets and rooting for them. They wrongly assume that they are entitled to hawk a player’s autograph and make money off of it. Then they hustle people into believing they are getting a good deal by charging $250 for a now signed book on eBay. Bill Russell was attempting to dissuade these types of people by mandating personalization. Mr. Hustle Entitlement bought 25 books just the same. I was very happy to see he was very far behind us on line.
Rather than engage any of the characters surrounding me, I began to read Bill’s book hoping to find what compelled my father to come to this place tonight and meet this man. I didn’t find the answer. What I did find was that Bill Russell was loved by his family. He fought racial prejudice and built a 50 year friendship with a man who couldn’t possibly be any different from him. I also learned he had a great wit, excellent storytelling skills and the kind of hard work and determination everyone wishes people could say about themselves. So I wondered, maybe we were here to see a man who exemplified all the things my dad worried were missing from my brother and starting to appear inside of me. Perhaps he was hoping the wisdom of the man would pass through to my dad and he could find the brilliance to pull my brother from his current academic difficulties. If it was a concern about my brother that drove us here, how else could it be connected to Bill Russell? I found thumbing through chapter 3 that I was gaining questions rather than answers and that Bill was a very good person.
Much like a Prom Queen, Bill Russell was fashionably late. Surrounded by rather innocuous people for an hour and a half before he showed, part of me wished it would be a Dykstra type signing so we could leave. But as he sat down and my dad leaned over the railing to see him, a funny thing happened. My father smiled. The line moved quick and about 5 minutes after he first sat down we had moved more than a distance of 10 feet, the same height a hoop rests above the ground. It was then that I heard the most pleasant sound of the evening.

Bill Russell laughed.

He has a big, rolling laugh, the kind that comedians dream of having sitting front row every night. It was a laugh that caused you to smile as if by reflex and it had that affect on my dad. As he leaned of the balcony again, my dad saw Bill shake a man’s hand. “Yes!” he said, “That is what I am here for.”
As my turn came up Bill looked me right in the eye. He smiled and asked me who “Matt” was in a deadpan style which put me at ease. I felt like a child, as if somehow speaking to someone deserving of great respect and admiration. He signed my book and I thanked him very sincerely. With great sincerity, he thanked me back. As my dad turned to him and shook his hand, I saw a glimmer in his eye that had been missing for some time. It was as if he could throw off the job he hated and the worries he had about his son’s futures for a minute and just be Joe. My dad spoke of his cousin and how he was in college at NYU at the same time Bill was winning Championships for the University San Francisco. Bill smiled and said “Oh yeah? How old are you?” “67” my father responded. “What’s that kid?” Bill asked, deadpan again. Then shook my father’s hand with honest appreciation.
As we walked back to the car, my father spoke of hope and the ability to overcome the stresses in my life. We discussed how not having a teaching job for the Fall simply meant not giving up. As we turned the corner, he peered into a storefront and saw a large ceramic rooster that he really liked. Staring at it together, my dad said “You know, Bill didn’t even ask my cousin’s name.” I responded “Yeah, but he did joke with you about being young.” My father responded “Yes and then he was right on to the next person. That was my one minute with Bill Russell. I paid for the book and had that moment.”
It was only then that I realized why we had come. It was to have a moment. His motivations may be his own and I may never really know why he felt compelled to come but I’d like to think it was for more than just one reason. In the end, much like our days out when I was much younger, it was an opportunity to spend a few moments with my dad and for him to spend a few quiet moments with me. As we drove away I felt a great happiness that the experience felt more rewarding than owning a book signed by the man who wouldn’t sign for God.

[joelsabi]

And i'm sure to alot of people this will sound stubid,but whenever the yankees are playing on t.v.We always keep his chair open that he would sit in to watch the games with us.I still feel him with me watching the games.

i knew it sounds foolish,but it was like my dad was watching the game and was upset just like me and my brother was.It was strange that it rained like that.Anyways,jason thanks for the posts and this thread.

jobathenut, far from it. i can totally relate. my dad past away but we had such fun watching laker games together at home while we were growing up and beyond. my dad past away earlier than i had expected. i have always regretted not going to a live game with him while he was alive but then again he felt very comfortable watching the games from home. i cannot watch a laker without thinking about my dad, imagining my dad on the edge of his seat and wondering when and if my dad had put the game in "the refrigerator," as chick hearn would often do. thanks for sharing.

great thread.

[skyking26]

When I was young I'd tape all of Kingman's HRS on the VHS. I would force dad and others to watch. Dad would sit motionless for a bit and then he would say,"this is as exciting as watching paint dry..."

[Mr.3000]

When I was young I'd tape all of Kingman's HRS on the VHS. I would force dad and others to watch. Dad would sit motionless for a bit and then he would say,"this is as exciting as watching paint dry..."

Nearly sums up my "father son sports story". My father worked 2 jobs and had zero interest in sports. Whatever I learned to enjoy, I learned on my own.

Thankfully I didn't pick up those character traits. My 2 year daughter sits with me and claps and cheers during whatever game I'm watching. I explain everything to her. I don't expect her to remember everything....but while watching football clips on ESPN she yells "TOUCHDOWN!!" and throws her arms up in the air...so I know she's definately learning

[jobathenut]

joelsabi-You just made a grown man cry.Man was i touched by your response to my post.Your dad and mine are up there together i just know it.Because reading what you wrote about your dad was like me talking about mine.He was the same way.He did'nt really like crowds and especially if the crowd was against his team.So going to new york would be the only way he would go see them play in person.I always regret(just like you)that i never took him to a game.That's why i had to make that trip with my brother to cleveland.And my brother also knew how important it was also,that we do that for him.Again like your dad,my dad also left us really unexpected.You always think you will have the time to do the things you want to do.So it makes it tough when you realize that you will never high five and celebrate a win again with him.But when the yankees win i can feel his happiness around me.thanks for the post .

jobathenut, far from it. i can totally relate. my dad past away but we had such fun watching laker games together at home while we were growing up and beyond. my dad past away earlier than i had expected. i have always regretted not going to a live game with him while he was alive but then again he felt very comfortable watching the games from home. i cannot watch a laker without thinking about my dad, imagining my dad on the edge of his seat and wondering when and if my dad had put the game in "the refrigerator," as chick hearn would often do. thanks for sharing.

great thread.

[012562]

Great thread!

One endearing memory I have that influences me to this day is when my Dad took me to a California Angels spring training game in Palm Springs, California, back in 1975 when I was 13 years old. It was my first spring training game. As I found out was usual by attending so many other games there, the place was typically empty, the players very cordial and friendly about signing, and it was a beautiful spring day in the sunshine watching my favorite team with my Dad. It wasn't that he was much of a baseball fan, it was the joy of sharing some time together, having a great hot dog and lemonade, and him taking time out of his busy schedule of being a doctor to drive an hour and a half each way to make me happy while enjoying some baseball.

To this day, spring training is my favorite part of the baseball season, and I was really sad when the Angels left Palm Springs for Arizona. Now I have a season ticket for the Angels in Arizona, and am fortunate to enjoy that time each year.

Tom Duino

[joelsabi]

joelsabi-You just made a grown man cry.Man was i touched by your response to my post.Your dad and mine are up there together i just know it.Because reading what you wrote about your dad was like me talking about mine.He was the same way.He did'nt really like crowds and especially if the crowd was against his team.So going to new york would be the only way he would go see them play in person.I always regret(just like you)that i never took him to a game.That's why i had to make that trip with my brother to cleveland.And my brother also knew how important it was also,that we do that for him.Again like your dad,my dad also left us really unexpected.You always think you will have the time to do the things you want to do.So it makes it tough when you realize that you will never high five and celebrate a win again with him.But when the yankees win i can feel his happiness around me.thanks for the post .

i took a sick day to watch the laker victory parade at home. dad would have wanted it that way.

[jobathenut]

Joelsabi-That is beautiful my friend- Here's to your dad and the lakers and you

i took a sick day to watch the laker victory parade at home. dad would have wanted it that way.