To celebrate Father’s Day I am reprising a column I wrote in our local paper years ago. Since all of their links are dead, I post it in this form with some minor editing.
On this day when you’re supposed to give gifts of appreciation to your dad, it is ironic that the thing that stands out to me about my dad is the best gift he ever gave me: My dad teamed with my mom in letting me be who I wanted to be.
It is for that reason I pursued a career in sports journalism.
It didn’t take my parents long to figure out medical school, law school or the seminary weren’t for me.
While my mother saw my interest in sports and steered me toward a career path via the high school radio station and newspaper, my dad fostered and increased my love of athletics through adventure.
My dad, brother and I were always taking the train to Wrigley Field or Comiskey Park. Heck, my dad even made buying tickets to games an outing. I can vividly remember taking the train and then the CTA bus to the old Chicago Stadium to purchase tickets to my first Chicago Bulls game. This made for a long day in the big city but it was also a strong signal that this was a meaningful event.
There were plenty of other adventures.
For example….
…Opening Days:
Our first Opening Day was in 1973 at Wrigley Field. The highlight of that game was pinch-runner Tony La Russa scoring the winning run on a basesloaded walk off of Montreal’s Mike Torrez. The lasting memory of that game is my younger brother, having waited three hours and hearing the roar of the crowd greet the season’s first pitch, turning to my dad and asking, “Is it over?”
Our last Opening Day was in 1979 at Wrigley Field. Capitalizing on his penchant to explore, we ate at an interesting restaurant called “Chester’s” on Sheffield Avenue before the game. We were then literally blown by a strong wind over to Wrigley Field where we took our seats in the upper deck. My dad became increasingly uncomfortable with a woman sitting a few rows in front of us. She would occasionally tease the wind by dangling one of her legs over the railing. Every time she would swing her leg over the edge, my dad would lunge forward and urge her to sit down. After a few innings we figured out why she was acting in such a manner. Her T-shirt read: “I’m only here for the beer.”
…football games:
That Opening Day wasn’t the only time my father and I battled the elements.
It seems every time the two of us went to a football game, Noah would be tailgating alongside his ark in the parking lot in anticipation of the coming storm.
In 1973, we floated home after watching the final College AllStar Game at Soldier Field, which was literally under water when we left. Eleven years later, we watched a Marquette University club football game against Wright Junior College in a downpour at Hansen Stadium in Chicago. That day, my dad learned first hand that covering lower level college and high school sports was mostly an outdoor activity no matter what the weather. The last time we took in a football game was Oct. 13,2001 at Welsh Ryan Field. We watched the first half of Northwestern’s 23-17 win over Minnesota. We passed on the second half because of the rain.
For our own good, we don’t plan on attending any football games in the future.
… others
Those football games weren’t the only times my dad was a trooper. On Dec. 30,1983, we drove for what seemed like hours to Rockford to watch Marquette play Northern Illinois. The drive home seemed even longer after Marquette’s uninspired performance in a one-point loss.
In 1977, my reward for perfect attendance was free White Sox tickets. His “reward” was a Sox-Blue Jays (that’s the expansion-year Blue Jays)doubleheader at Comiskey Park that didn’t end until well after midnight.
Despite the elements and long hours, we always had a good time.
Every game, every journey was met head on with enthusiasm. That was evident as late as Saturday when three generations of Marrans took in the “Chicago Sports! You Shoulda Been There” exhibit at the Chicago Historical Society.
That enthusiasm and sense of adventure is something I carry and draw on to this day.
It is what truly makes and keeps sports interesting for me and is something my wife and I are trying to instill in our own children.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad, and — most of all — thanks!