Family Traditions
I have a confession to make. Ready? Here it comes...when I was ten years old, I wasn't a Yankee fan. I was an Atlanta Braves fan. I was a fan of Hank Aaron. I didn't care if the Yanks lost every game.
There, I said it.
Yet there was a force stronger than my love for the Hammer that pulled me over to the Evil Empire, and it was family.
You see, my grandfather was a Yankee fan, as was his father was before him. Maybe it was because they had Italians on the team back then. Maybe it was just because they were a proud franchise even 50 years ago. Whatever the reason, I began talking baseball with Grandpa Fuzzy. If we ever had a lull in conversation, I filled it with talk of DiMaggio or Mantle. I still feel the pain of the 1960's lost to the Pirates on the Mazeroski home run even though I was just a twinkle in the eye at that point.
My father carried the torch and passed it to my brothers and me. By the age of 14, I had two World Series Titles in the banks of my mind. 30 years later, I'm up to 6 titles and hours logged defending everything about my team.
And it's because I shared those titles with my family. I remember watching the end of the '96 series with my brothers, hugging when Girardi hit the triple - to bury the now-hated Atlanta Braves.
I bring all of this up because last night I was watching an old game on the MLB Network - the game was from 1980 and I not only could recall each batter, I remembered who I was sitting with when I watched that very game 30 years ago.
I'm a Yankee fan and always will be because of who I was sitting with then, and who I'm sitting with now.
I high-fived my sons and nephews yesterday because the Yanks made it back to first place - they always gravitate to first, you see. And for a moment...a brief moment...we smiled yesterday and the ghosts of Yankee pasts were smiling too.
Because as you see Grandpa never even heard of A-Rod or Jeter, but you can bet your ass, he's rooting for them.
There, I said it.
Yet there was a force stronger than my love for the Hammer that pulled me over to the Evil Empire, and it was family.
You see, my grandfather was a Yankee fan, as was his father was before him. Maybe it was because they had Italians on the team back then. Maybe it was just because they were a proud franchise even 50 years ago. Whatever the reason, I began talking baseball with Grandpa Fuzzy. If we ever had a lull in conversation, I filled it with talk of DiMaggio or Mantle. I still feel the pain of the 1960's lost to the Pirates on the Mazeroski home run even though I was just a twinkle in the eye at that point.
My father carried the torch and passed it to my brothers and me. By the age of 14, I had two World Series Titles in the banks of my mind. 30 years later, I'm up to 6 titles and hours logged defending everything about my team.
And it's because I shared those titles with my family. I remember watching the end of the '96 series with my brothers, hugging when Girardi hit the triple - to bury the now-hated Atlanta Braves.
I bring all of this up because last night I was watching an old game on the MLB Network - the game was from 1980 and I not only could recall each batter, I remembered who I was sitting with when I watched that very game 30 years ago.
I'm a Yankee fan and always will be because of who I was sitting with then, and who I'm sitting with now.
I high-fived my sons and nephews yesterday because the Yanks made it back to first place - they always gravitate to first, you see. And for a moment...a brief moment...we smiled yesterday and the ghosts of Yankee pasts were smiling too.
Because as you see Grandpa never even heard of A-Rod or Jeter, but you can bet your ass, he's rooting for them.
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