Happy Fathers Day! (Storytime Edition!)
For father’s day, I’d like to share a little story from my young days with my old man.
It was in the late 90’s so I was about seven at the time. My dad bought tickets to a Phillies game and brought me and my older brother.
We were ecstatic to be involved in the glory days of Mickey Morandini, Gregg Jeffries, and Kevin Stocker. They were the best in the world as far as I was concerned. It was also one of the first two or three games that I had seen for any professional team in the stadium and it was a fantastic, exciting feeling.
The Vet was just monstrous to me. It was almost unbelievable with the giant scoreboard and concrete towers. I knew I could have played the best game of tag EVER in that place with 5 million of my closest friends. And you know, the Phillies were going to play too.
Baseball really hit me with that timeless charm when we got to our seats. On the prior games I had been to it was always in the upper deck where you couldn’t see anything. But this time my dad got the tickets through his company. I still remember the clink of the metal as we walked down to our lower level seats, somewhere about eight rows back from home plate. Me and my brother (who smells, still) were blown away. We were basically right next to the action for the first time in our young lives. If we yelled, Mike Lieberthal would actually hear us. It was super cool.
However, the team was not up to our untamed expectations. The exact details are a bit fuzzy, but it was a close game to the end and the whole way through we cheered and hoped like hell that the home team would win the game. Once the final out was called and the Phillies officially lost I was crushed, the same with my brother.
My dad, in a sympathetic fashion put his arms around us for a moment and gave a deep breath. It was like he was feeling our pain. That he understood what we were feeling. He then look at both of us in the eyes and said “Boys, your guinea pig died.”
That’s for piling it on, Dad. Happy father’s day.