My Dad and Baseball

There is something about the crack of a bat against a ball that will make me think of my dad. Even though he has been gone two years, there are times that I want to pick up the phone and say, Hey,Dad, what do you think about how the Sox did last night? I can remember how he used to take us to Fenway Park. My dad walked everywhere so he would get on the bus and make us walk just about across the whole city to get there and then we would sit in left field. He wasn't a big Yaz fan,but he did love to talk to the other team's left fielder. I can remember how he would be yelling down to Gates Brown, the Detroit Tigers left fielder,and Gates, would yell back up to him. I don't think you see that anymore.

And on the days,when he would listen at home, he would have his little transistor radio in his shirt pocket while we walked along the beach. He didn't want to miss one pitch in the game he loved.

And of course,there were the stories about how doing the depression,he sold newspapers at South Station. The visiting players would come in on the train and buy a paper and Babe Ruth, well, he was the greatest of all.

So,on this Father;s day, take the time to sit down with dad and watch your favorite team. I know I'll be watching and talking to my dad,even though he won't be sitting beside me.