I suspect — no, I know — that my dad is watching or listening to a baseball game somewhere today. He might be chasing around the grandkids or doing some more work in the yard just in case Better Homes and Gardens shows up for a photo shoot, but he’ll be paying attention to a game.
Every single time I sit down to cover a game and fill in the names on my scorebook, I think of my father teaching me how to score a game when I was a kid. Somehow, all those lines and numbers told the story of the game. Eventually, all those lines and numbers became a job. High schools at first, then a few college games and eventually the minor leagues and now the Yankees.
It’s a ridiculously fun job and there is no chance, none whatsoever, that I would be doing it without my father’s love, guidance and passed-down love of sports. Especially baseball.
A lot of you probably share the game with your dad, I suspect. So call him today or stop by and ask him what he thinks of Joba’s role or why Derek bunts so often. It’s a better present than most anything else.