Sunday, June 17, 2007

Thought on Baseball and my Father

The Yankees are having the worst season in living memory, and yet, when they unexpectedly (for Red Sox fans) come alive and win 9 games in a row I find myself walking around with a silly smile and "jabbing" my friends who are Red Sox or Mets fans. This always leaves me wondering where this comes from - I'm not generally a sports fan. I usually say I come by my Yankees-ism naturally, being born in the Bronx. But that's only part of the story.

Often, when I think of my father, I imagine him either at work or listening (or, more likely arguing) about the Yankees. When I was young, he would often take me with him on Saturdays to the construction yard on Zerega Avenue in the Bronx, where he worked. It was Del Balso Construction, owned by his cousin and he worked there. It was some of the most 'quality time' I spent with him; talking about what he loved - the equipment and the jobs. I would watch him work, asking a million questions; or roam around the yard getting into trouble. One of my favorite activities was sharpening welding rods into little spears that I would use to hunt rats (the site was on the water). I never caught any, but it was great fun, as was trying to befriend the stray dogs and cats that were kept there to keep the rat population under control. We usually stayed until lunch; steaks cooked over an open fire in an oil can in the winter or White Castle hamburgers when it was too warm for a fire. The steaks were my favorite, but I also loved the hamburgers, especially the competition as to how many you could eat. I remember him eating 10 of the little devils. Even in my memory they were awful, greasy, little squares of meat with holes in them, served on mushy steamed buns with onions providing the only recognizable taste.

My father adored the Yankees. In those days your team really defined you and where you fit in. I remember many discussion with my mother (who was notably less enthusiastic) where my father would dismiss some couple that she wanted to spend time with as Giants fans, or with incredulity, Dodgers fans. Giants fans were misguided, but ultimately salvageable. It was worth trying to change their minds - loudly! Dodgers fans were beyond the pale and best avoided. I was reminded of this last year when I was crushed by the Yankees inexplicable loss to the Red Sox (the Dodgers of today). I would not nearly be as bereft by a loss to the Mets. This is a good thing since they lost to them last night and I'm going the game today with Barry. Some of my fondest memories of my father were at Yankees games where he taught me how to score the game on the program. I still remember most of the symbols. As I got older, I sort of drifted away from baseball and the Yanks (they were truly awful). Paradoxically, it was the devastating baseball strike of 1994 that reminded me how much I loved the "feeling" of baseball. I'm still not a real fan; I read about more games than I see, but have a strong emotional attachment to the Yankees and, I guess, my father.

My father did have a third great love--gardening, that he passed on to my sisters and somehow, posthumously to my wife. When I see Chris o in the garden in Otis, or outside our building in New York (she leads the Garden Committee) I can't help thinking this is my father's revenge for all the bad nights I gave him in my teenage years (more accurately, until I got married at 23). It usually fell to him to "defend" me from my mother when I came home drunk, or just didn't come home. His most familiar argument, that I wasn't that bad, he had been worse, left me striving to do "better" than him.

Well, I'm leaving for the game soon and I really hope they win. It's a long way back to even be in the pennant race. It's hard enough being from the Bronx when the Yankees are winning. My friends who are Mets fans or Red Sox fans ( I hope my father is not reading this) are used to losing - seem to relish it in some strange way. But Yankees fans are used to winning and get no sympathy when they lose. People seem to feel validated by the big bully's problems. It's not easy being a Yankees fan.

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