We come home an hour later from the game when we said we’d be home at 6pm, and it’s now pitch black out and the only thing left on the field are the seagulls. We’re on baseball time, not the regular Pacific Daylight Time.
Every week we’re glued to some cable channel to watch Barry Bonds’ next homer, the latest web gems on Baseball Tonight or to get the inside scoop on the A’s moving to San Jose, Fremont or Las Vegas.
We can’t sit still when our kid is hitting because this is the most important at bat of his career, unlike the other 821 times he’s come to the plate. Deep down inside we’re hoping for that elusive home run.
Countless times we’ve raced home to watch the next record-breaking performance in Major League Baseball only to find out the game has been rained out or it was the fastest game on record. Undaunted, we wolf down our Big Macs, taco supremes and the double-doubles with extra grilled onions. We wash it down with animal fries.
We have to play fantasy baseball because we think we’re better baseball strategists than Dusty Baker, Joe Torre and Tony La Russa combined. On any given day, we can be seen yelling at the TV set because we just lost valuable points in our quest to get an all-expense-paid trip to spring training and a $10,000 shopping spree at Baseballs R Us.
Searching for that ideal baseball shirt is something we like to occupy our time with because we’ll be wearing it for the next 20 years, even if it fades, tears apart or is held together by the silkscreen logo. Eventually, we may use it to dry the car.
We take pride in our sons’ accomplishments and feel their anguish. We’re always there with a kind word and a vote of confidence, assuring them there will be another day and another game.
Many nights we’ve eaten cold meals because the game went into extra innings, the snack bar closed down and we’re so exhausted we can’t even fathom going through the drive-thru and conversing with someone who doesn’t understand our order.
We expect our families to understand why baseball is America’s pastime and we force them to watch “Field of Dreams”, “The Natural”, “Major League” and “For The Love of The Game” at least once a week from April to October.
We teach and nurture our sons on the game of baseball hoping someday they’ll reach the pinnacle. We’ve taken line shots to the cup, caught fastballs barehanded and have thrown so many batting practice balls that our rotator cuff is practically non-existent.
We’ve sacrificed a Tahoe vacation, a cruise to Tahiti with our wives and front-row concert tickets for an All-Star game in Fremont, a travel game in Bakersfield and autograph day at a minor league game in Visalia.
What were we thinking?
Well, we’re all baseball fathers, and on this upcoming Fathers’ Day we’ll accept the grief for being late, and we’ll tolerate the cold meals and the missed vacations. But we wouldn’t trade it for anything!
So, on this Fathers’ Day I hope all the wives and kids let us watch the ESPN Game of the Week with no interruptions, give us a Sony 87-inch High Definition TV with Direct TV, and equip us with a cell phone that links directly to the Baseball Commissioner’s office.
We promise we won’t bother you until the World Series!
Rich Taylor is the owner, head instructor and CEO of Taylor Made Baseball. He can be reached by email at**********@***oo.com.
