Happy Father's Day

When I was a kid I was a Major Leaguer.  Yea, I also played little-league with the other guys my age, as well as football, soccer, basketball, tennis; pretty much any sport we could get our hands on.  But in the backyard, when my dad would say, “Hey Jeff, you wanna toss around the ole apple?”  We both transformed.  In fact, the whole backyard did.  Suddenly it was Shea Stadium or Wrigley Field.  I’m not sure where this game came from, if it was something he planned out or if we just kind of invented it together, but what it amounted to was two guys playing every position on the diamond, in the outfield, and in the commentator’s box!  And it was always the Chicago Cubs vs the New York Mets. 

Probably because in those days we didn’t have instant access to any major league roster online, or maybe just because we liked those teams the best, it was always those two teams.  Frozen in time circa their 1987/1988 rosters, as best we could remember them. 

The Cubs had Ryne Sandberg, Andre Dawson, Shawon Dunston, Mark Grace, Vance Law, Ron Cey*, Rafael Palmeiro*, Dwight Smith, Greg Maddux, and Rick Sutcliffe.

The Mets had Daryl Strawberry, Gary Carter, Keith Hernandez, Howard Johnson, Lenny Dykstra, Rafael Santana, Mookie Wilson, Wally Backman, Dwight Gooden, and Ron Darling. 

(* of course Palmeiro was long gone by the time Mark Grace joined the club and Ron Cey had retired by then I think.  But there they all were, somehow, in the backyard.)  

It would start with Dwight Gooden (me), pitching to Gary Carter (dad), in the top of the first at Shea.  He’d say, “and here comes Shawon Dunston to the plate, folks, to lead off the game.  Shawon has struggled against Doc Gooden over the years posting only a .165 batting average against him in his career.  He’s hoping to turn that around today, Harry.”  And then he’d say, “He sure is Mel, Doc has started to cost this guy some serious psychiatrist bills in the offseason.  Here comes the first pitch!”  I’d give him my fastball.  And he’d say, “Steeeeee-Rike one!  A heater right down the middle, and Dunston was a take all the way on that one, Mel!”  Then he’d throw the ball back to me and say, “No doubt about it Harry, Gooden knows he’s got Dunston’s number.  Gary Carter gives Doc the sign, Doc shakes him off… he wants to go heater again I think Mel.  And here comes the pitch... “

I’d throw another fastball.  “Swing and a ground ball to third base!”  He’d stand up and throw a grounder off to my right.  I’d run to it and field it, as he’d say, “Just inside the chalk, Howard Johnson comes up with it and turns to throw to first.”  I’d throw it back to him as fast as I could, while he transformed from Gary Carter to Keith Hernandez at first base.  “Dunston’s really on his horse, trying to beat the throw…”  He’d catch it, “but not in time!  Johnson throws out Shawon Dunston by a hair at first.  Yea, and good play by Hernandez, stretching out to reach that ball, Harry.”  He’d say to himself.

Mark Grace would follow Dunston, with a single up the middle.  Then Ryne Sandberg would hit a dribbler to Rafael Santana at short, who would try to turn the double play.  Santana (me) would snatch it and flip it to Wally Backman (dad) to get Grace at second, and then he’d turn to throw it to Keith Hernandez (me) to try for two.  I’d catch it.  “But Sandberg beats the throw to first!”  He’d interject.  “Backman held it just a second too long, Harry, and Ryno gets to first on a fielder’s choice.  And that brings up Andre Dawson."

"Yes indeed Mel!  And the Hawk’s already got 28 homers this year, as well as 10 against Gooden in his career.  Could he pull some long ball magic here in the first?”  I’d wind up and send along another heater.  “Here comes the pitch!  Swing and a drive!  Deep to right!”  He’d stand up and throw a fly ball over my head.  I’d turn and sprint toward the fence.  “Daryl Strawberry’s chasing it deep toward the warning track…”  Then Strawberry (me) would turn and snag it at the fence.  “And what a catch by Daryl at the warning track to save two runs, Harry.  I’ll tell you what Mel, that was a fantastic catch!  Doc Gooden knows that he owes Daryl a steak dinner later tonight for hauling that one in!”

Then the bottom of the first would come around and dad would become Greg Maddux, and I’d take over the commentating duties.  Mookie Wilson would single to left, Lenny Dykstra would strike out, and Wilson would get nailed trying to steal second.  Then Strawberry would blast a high fly ball to center that Dunston would catch at the warning track.  “Boy oh boy, Harry,” I’d say, “The crowd here at Shea was ready to explode if that one left the yard.  No doubt about it Mel!  Well that’s it for the first inning, we’ve got a good one going here folks!”

And it would continue like this for a few hours.  Usually the scores would end up being pretty high.  Like 9-8 or 13-11, including probably too many grand slams.  Just fun (if usually unrealistic) fan-friendly scores.  And invariably at some point, Gary Carter (dad) would come out to talk to Dwight Gooden (me) for a meeting at the mound, as would often happen in the majors.  And he’d say what he always assumed the catcher said to the pitcher in this situation, “Hey Dwight, what are you thinking about for dinner tonight?  You got plans after the game?”

Some of my favorite times happened in those backyards over the years.  And I’m sure to my mom, it looked like he was spending quality time with me and that he was a great dad (which he was of course.)  But to us it was a game.  It was the fun of the sport, and having no idea what was going to come of it.  The time would just fly by and pretty soon it’d be too dark to see the ball, so we’d have to call it, and we’d run in for dinner. It didn’t’ seem like he was “fitting me in” or “spending quality time with his son.”  It didn’t seem like he was trying to be a good dad.  It was effortless.  It was an unspoken connection, and as silly as it’s sounds, we bonded because of it; because of this wacky game.

To this day when I talk with my pops on the phone or even in person, we talk sports.  Somehow it grounds us.  Like I had to text him when I was at a Mets game a few weeks ago.  We were sitting right near the commentators booth, where Keith Hernandez and Ron Darling are calling games now.  Hernandez waved to me as I snapped a picture.  Or a few years ago when I was at a Brooklyn Cyclones game where Gary Carter manages the Mets minor league affiliate.  I had to give my dad a call because these guys, oddly or not, are kind of like old friends in our lives.  They used to play ball with us.  

My dad and I don’t only talk sports, but when we do get into it the time just flies, like it did in those old backyards.  In a way, it really is what sports are all about.  Connecting us in so many ways, not really possible in other aspects of life.  I remember one time when I was visiting my folks a few years ago and my mom set up a lunch date with just my dad and me.  She said, “Do me a favor.  Please don’t talk about sports the whole time!”  And she was right.  We do need to talk about other things.  We just need to be reminded sometimes.  So, thanks mom for that.

And thanks Dad, for all those backyard ballgames.  And all the other great times too.  You have been a huge inspiration in my life and are obviously, the greatest dad ever.  Right guys?

"There's no doubt about it.  What do you think, Mel?"
"Harry... I couldn't agree more!"

Happy Father’s Day Pops.