A Special Bond – Card Chronicle

While there is no denying that the melting pot of personalities and opinions can sometimes run rampant in the sports community, many of our stories likely start in a similar fashion. Boy/girl admires dad. Dad loves sports. Boy/girl loves sports. It’s a fairly simple equation, but one that can really change the course of our lives when it comes to how we spend our free time a good portion of the calendar year. If the game is on, you’re both watching. Sometimes together, sometimes apart, but often a conversation happens before, during, or after each and every time.

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My story is not so different. I grew up in a home where faith and family was the main focus, and college athletics was trailing close behind. My dad played sports during college, helped coach high school football, and could pick up any new sport in nearly record time, a very annoying trait for a competitive son and his brothers. While some families have pictures of foliage or their favorite scenescape hanging on the walls, we had pictures of Jack Nicklaus and Johnny Majors in our living room. While some families enjoyed an occasional athletic event together or gathered to watch the rivalry games, our television was locked on whatever sport was happening that time of year, from football, basketball, baseball and even an occasional peek at the world of hockey. There was no denying that we bonded over sports, and cheering on our favorite teams allowed us to both connect and painfully poke at each other equally on a consistent basis. And I loved it.

From the time I was around six or seven years old I recall watching college football games with my dad and brothers. Mostly it was his alma mater, Tennessee, with a spattering of Louisville and the rest of the SEC mixed in (it meant more even back then, apparently) and then as we got older, and a graduate degree was added to the wall, Wisconsin and the Big Ten was added to the rotation. Trips to Neyland, Camp Randall, Memorial Stadium in Bloomington (because it was the shortest trip to see other Big Ten teams) and of course the occasional trip to Cardinal Stadium (I was there for Memphis, and Penn State, among others) both old and new, as we got older. Road trips on a weekend growing up often revolved around who was playing, and where, and how long it took to get there. My mother was a saint.

Some of my earliest memories as a kid involve me sitting at our dinning room table with a piece of graph paper my dad had brought home from work and drawing out the football field (with appropriate end zone graphics of course) of the big game we planned to watch that day so I could chart the drives with colored pencils (yeah, I was a big hit with the ladies back then). This of course was pre-internet, so stats and scores came from SportsCenter if you were lucky, but often from the paper the next day. I remember standing in front of the TV with my mother waiting on us to leave the house, but we had to see if Colorado could pull off the Hail Mary against Michigan (they did, mom). I remember Ron Dayne breaking the NCAA rushing record and helping Wisconsin win back to back Rose Bowls (multiple t-shirts were purchased), I remember seeing Peyton Manning fall short of the National Championship (stupid Florida) only to see Tee Martin lead the Vols to the title the next year in 1998 (my dad bought a new TV to celebrate). I remember watching Notre Dame and FSU play in 1993, the first #1 vs. #2 matchup I recall, and it coming down to the final play. I recall sitting on our couch and laughing about LSU pulling off the ‘Bluegrass Miracle’ (as a UT grad he despised UK equally), falling in love with College Gameday on Saturday mornings, and then as my brothers and I got older and went off to college his “favorite teams” on the weekly “must watch” list expanded to include Louisville, and Purdue.

Set Number: X46942

Many of you know me around here because of the various posts or series I’ve contributed to over the last thirteen years, including ‘The Cardinal Countdown’ during the summer, the ‘Two Minute Plays’ series, or the countless Q&A posts on this site and others. I’m here, writing, reading, researching, because I have a love for the sport passed on to me by my dad. While not completely out of left field (he’d appreciate the baseball metaphor) I unfortunately lost my dad in recent weeks due to some ongoing health issues. I’m not writing this, or anything else on this site if not for him and what he introduced me to nearly 35 years ago. My dad used sports as a way to teach us about life. There are challenges, there are good days and bad, sometimes you win (enjoy it) and sometimes you lose (learn from it) but nothing comes easy, no matter how bad you want it to. It takes hard work to get better, it takes mental preparation to become great. Respect your coaches, always, and when things get frustrating…remember, these are games. It’s supposed to be fun.

I’ve lost track of how many times I wished my dad loved musical theatre or art museums after a crushing loss or a painful season. Those things never let you down. But when the clock rolls back around the following year, I’m bought in again every single time. While I’ve certainly developed my own fandom over the years, I also realize the connection with me and sports isn’t just because I enjoy watching it, but also because of the bond I had with my dad every time it was on. I’m passing down my fandom to my kids as well, and I hope they can look back thirty or forty years from now half as fondly as I do and remember those moments together. To steal from Jimmy V, I’ve done quite a bit of laughing, thinking, and crying over watching my teams through the years, and many of those moments were shared with a father who I will miss deeply. Rest easy, dad. I feel good about next year’s team.