When you click over to a Dad’s blog at the start of the Major League Baseball playoffs, NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament or the Stanley Cup playoffs, you have to expect that we’re all going to pile on with stories and anecdotes about our beloved sporting events. The Dad’s on this blog are no different.
Kansas City's Favorite Son: George Brett. Photo Credit: Neil Leifer
Despite the fact it raised some of my “East Coast Bias” ire, I enjoyed my fellow co-founder David Guarino’s post about the unfortunate scheduling for his Sawx game and how this can present problems for him to enjoy the game with his son.
But, David and his son have two recent World Championships (2004-2007) to talk about so I am not going to cry them a river. After all, for us long-time suffering San Diego Padres fans, we’ve never had a drink from that fountain.
David’s central point though is a great one and I must pile on a little.
As a kid, I remember fall baseball with great exhuberance. As a very young child (3-10), I lived in Kansas City when the Royals were actually good. At that time, they had a great rivalry with the New York Yankees and those games are my earliest memory of baseball being played when it really meant something. I still remember the 1977 American League Championship Series when the Yankees topped the Royals in Game 5 (they only played five back then). I remember the last out and immediately falling to the ground and crying as I watched George Brett, Freddie Patek and Frank White leave the field with their heads hanging low.
It was my Dad (a former Cubs fan – he fired them after the 1969 collapse) who introduced me to baseball, like most everyone else. He also introduced me to the drama and excitement that surrounds playoff time. As a child, he’d let me stay up late to listen to the games on the radio – no matter who the teams where even when we didn’t have a horse in the race. I remember those days fondly and how they helped us bond and share an interest in something that transcends time and age.
The Gulbransen Boys (L-R: My Dad Paul, myself, brother Matt, and son Ryan in the front) in Cooperstown to watch Tony Gwynn's Induction. That's how much we love baseball!
Later, after my father’s job moved us from middle America (Kansas City) to the beautiful shores of America’s Finest City San Diego, that love of baseball (and bad teams!) continued. Every fall there would be late nights with Dad and the radio and now cable TV. It was something that I always looked forward to and couldn’t wait to have my father’s undivided attention as he explained the game to me.
Then, almost like a dream, my childhood team the San Diego Padres found themselves in the playoffs in 1984 against – you guessed it – the Chicago Cubs. Since the Padres had never made the playoffs since their introduction into the National League in 1969, the town was abuzz and playoff tickets hard to come by. My Dad pulled me out of school for all of the games and he himself traveled to our original hometown of Chicago to watch the first two games.
Those first two games were won easily by the Cubs and it looked bad for our boys in the Taco Bell uniforms.
My Dad came home and secured tickets but I was only to attend Game 4. The Padres had a great performance in Game 3 and were now, at the very least, going to lose respectfully.
The Garv: A prolific father in his own way and the man who hit "The Home Run."
I was overly excited to attend my first playoff game and was hoping against all hope that the Padres could extend the series into Game 5. That meant another day out of school, english and math be damned. The excitement in the stadium was palpable and I can still hear that roar in my middle-aged ears now. It was magic and my Dad and I were there to experience it. It was the day I truly fell in love with baseball. I remember thinking: “Wow, I want to play this game my whole life. I want to be on the field and hear this roar and hit a home run.”
Another home run would change things that night. With the Padres tied with the Cubs 5-5 in the 9th inning, Steve Garvey came to the plate with future Hall of Famer Tony Gwynn standing on first base. Watch here to see what happened next. Around San Diego County, it’s simply called “The Home Run.”
This experience and this game cemented a father-son relationship with baseball as the catalyst. It’s the same sort of relationship I am forging with my sons. Baseball and sports seem to do that for fathers and sons. No matter what disagreements or little things that pop up over our lifetime, I know we’ll always share baseball like I did with my Dad.
My eldest son Ryan and I at the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY - 2007
This Friday, I am taking my oldest son to Anaheim to see the Angels vs. Red Sox Game 2. I am not sure he’ll see such an historic event like I did at my first playoff game, but I know we’ll grow closer and that he’ll remember Dad and baseball when he thinks about it.
Just like every father should talk to his son about becoming a man, every father should, if at all possible, enjoy post-season baseball with his son.
To hassle Scott, or to send him thoughts on how much you love his writing or opinions, email him at scott@everyotherthursday.com. You can also follow him on Twitter @prgully and read his personal blog – focused on the cross-section of public relations and social media – at www.scottgulbransen.com. If you’re a Chicago Cubs fan, he’ll provide you with free antibiotics.
