- May 18, 2009
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Permit me to brag a little...
- Thread starter Chadman
- Start date
congrats, brother. it happened to me and i'll never forget it. proud as proud can be. we got the ball and my son wanted grandad to have it so i had him sign it and mailed it to my dad. when my dad died my brother gave it back to me and it sits in my case with my mantle, williams, dimaggio balls.
congrats! nothing better :00hour
congrats! nothing better :00hour
That's a neat idea about giving the ball to someone else - might do that and have him give it to his grandpa or something.
A funny sidebar... they had their first summer ball practice last night, and the head coach (I'm just helping this year, thankfully) asked me if he had played any first base, he could use him some there (he usually pitches and plays 3rd or OF). I told my son about that, and he thought a little, and said: "Hmm, a power hitting first baseman, huh? That would be ok..."
:mj07:
A funny sidebar... they had their first summer ball practice last night, and the head coach (I'm just helping this year, thankfully) asked me if he had played any first base, he could use him some there (he usually pitches and plays 3rd or OF). I told my son about that, and he thought a little, and said: "Hmm, a power hitting first baseman, huh? That would be ok..."
:mj07:
Great story Chad. My Dad was recalling one of my home runs last month before he passed. His recollection and the pride in his voice still makes me emotional. I had broken a tie game in extra innings with a homer. We were playing a all State team that was looking to fill its roster for the Babe Ruth National Tournament. After the game my Dad asked the all State coach if he liked our catcher. He said he really wanted the first baseman, who he didn't know was his son.
Times like last night will carry you a lifetime. believe me.
Here is something I will share from my little brothers face book page
Fathers & BaseballShare
Monday, June 23, 2008 at 9:51pm
My father is dying. He can't walk very well anymore and he's stuck in the cancer-ridden hell that lies between constant nausea from aggressive chemotherapy treatments and scream-inducing pain that results from prostate cancer having spread to virtually every major joint in his body. It makes me sick to my stomach to know he's in this sad fucking state of being.
However, I don't want to dwell on my Dad's health condition. It's too depressing and I to be honest, I can't really write about it much more than I already have. I mention it merely as a background for my family's weekly (or so) trip down to my parents to see Grammy and Grampy. Each drive down, I hope that my Dad has hit that magical medicated state where he's feeling good enough to enjoy the company of me and my kids, but not so overmedicated that he's out of it.
Sunday was a great day. The Red Sox were on and they were playing the St. Louis Cardinals and we watched the game for 11 innings before I had to finally tear myself away and start heading home with my two exhausted kids.
Baseball has a fantastic ability to unite us. Like many fathers born in the 40's, my Dad and I don't always share fantastic dialog. "How's work?" is usually answered with a similarly short "Really good". Anything longer than that isn't required or generally necessary. I suspect that like many fathers and sons of my age, we think about having the sort of relationship that Mr. Cunningham had with his kids in Happy Days, but more often than not, our relationship resembles Laverne and her Dad, Frank DiFasio in Laverne and Shirley. There was a lot of love there, but there was a lot of yelling and awkward silences too (and no laugh track either).
In any event, baseball is our natural conversation starter. Julio Lugo was Theo Epstein's worst move as a GM. They should have kept Orlando Cabrera. Varitek is the game's best catcher. Manny looks ridiculous. They should tell him to cut his hair. Ted Williams would have had 600 homers easy if he didn't serve his country...twice. Jacoby Ellsbury may be fast, but I bet Coco Crisp is actually faster around the bases. No one motors like him from first to third. I don't think they've had as good a third baseman in Lowell since Boggs left.
And on and on it goes. Then JD Drew gets up. He's finally looking like the player Theo bought. Stepping in from the left, Dad says "He's got a smooth swing just like you used to have," and a smile comes across his face. "You were always such a coachable kid, I taught you to be a switch-hitter and you liked the left side so much, by the time you were 10, you just stayed a lefty. Which was fine by me since you weren't exactly 'fast' up the first base line and batting left handed gave you an extra step." I smile and laugh because I know it's true. I legged out a few basehits in my life that would have been sure outs if Dad hadn't taught me how to hit lefty.
Then he really starts to amaze me:
"Remember that game once at King Philip? You got in there left-handed and you absolutely blasted one. It went so far you got an inside-the-park home run." And trust me folks...for me to hit an inside-the-park home run, the ball needed to be hit a long, long way.
I remember it...vaguely. But he remembers it as if it were yesterday. And what I remember is that it was a high school game, and for Dad to be there, means that he must have gotten out of work a little early to drive to Wrentham and catch the game. He always would bug me at the beginning of the season to give me my schedule so he could figure out when the games were. Dad worked for the phone company as a cable splicer back then, and since he was a senior technician, he could pick his jobs a little bit and I know he tried to see if he could get a job near where I was playing just so he could catch the game. I remember looking around for him during some games, and feeling a sense of nervous excitement when I did finally catch him pulling into the parking lot. Sometimes he'd just be able to park on the street and catch an at bat or two while still in his phone truck.
"What I really remember about that game was your last at bat." I can barely remember last year's company outing, let alone an at bat 20 years ago. "The go-ahead run was on second base and you came to the bat. I think you were batting clean-up. I was really hoping you'd drive that run in, and on a 2-2 pitch, you absolutly clobbered it to center field. For a second, I said "yes!" (and he pumped his fist here) and then almost as quickly, I realized the center fielder was backed up so much from your first home run, that he turned and only had to run a few steps to settle under it. Do you remember that one?"
To tell you the truth Dad...I vaguely remember it. But hearing you recall it so vividly fills me with such warmth and sadness. To some baseball is a game. To others, its a profession. For me and my Dad, it's a sport that has provided the foundation of a lifetime of memories and talking points and I'm going to miss it terribly when he's gone.
Frig, you guys can get pretty intense.
Maybe why I needed a break.
Best of wishes to your father, shamrock.
And Jack, well, you know what I think, I believe.
And, good memories, Chadman. I only played a couple of years of softball, at 11 and 12, and when I finally cranked a home run (I believe the one and only) I was on cloud nine. I'll never forget it, despite having very few memories of my childhood.
You've inspired to ask my father if he remembers it, though such would surprise me.
Been surprised before, however.
Y'all keep the peace.
Glad to be part of this number
Maybe why I needed a break.
Best of wishes to your father, shamrock.
And Jack, well, you know what I think, I believe.
And, good memories, Chadman. I only played a couple of years of softball, at 11 and 12, and when I finally cranked a home run (I believe the one and only) I was on cloud nine. I'll never forget it, despite having very few memories of my childhood.
You've inspired to ask my father if he remembers it, though such would surprise me.
Been surprised before, however.
Y'all keep the peace.
Glad to be part of this number
