Tonight in Anaheim MLB‘s brightest stars will hit the diamond for the 2010 All-Star Game. While some would argue this event has lost its magic, the game will always hold a special place in my heart because of what it means to me and my dad. We’ve managed to maintain an All-Star game tradition that’s lasted nearly 3 decades, and I still remember the details of how it began.
My dad & I watched our first All-Star Game together back in 1983. I can still visualize that game’s signature moment, Fred Lynn’s 3rd inning grand slam which remains the only grand slam in All-Star Game history (I get that right every single year when the first bases-loaded situation arises and the network flashes the question on the screen). I might not have lasted the entire game since I was only 8 years old at the time, but I did get the chance to indulge in a frozen pizza snack and some orange soda. Between the snacks, the sugar high, staying up past my bedtime, and getting to see the game’s greatest players all take the field at once, my mind was officially blown.
After such a great experience that first summer of ’83, you can imagine how much I looked forward to repeating the event in July of ’84. But life would throw one of those unexpected curveballs my way that summer. My dad, who was in the process of transitioning to a new role within the Vermont State Police, was assigned to attend an out-of-town training class during the week of the All-Star Game. You can only imagine my disappointment when I learned he wouldn’t be there to watch the game and share in the pizza & orange soda snack. My mom did her best to recreate the experience for me, but setting up those TV trays just wasn’t the same without Dad there. He was the one who knew all the players and could tell me all the stories about the greats from his day. How could I possibly watch without him?
Around the 2nd inning that night, just as I was about to burn the roof of my mouth on that first bite of piping hot Tony’s Pizza, the phone rang. It was Dad! He was calling to check in on me and recap what we’d witnessed during the early part of the game. He also told me how disappointed he was that he couldn’t be there to watch the game with me. Even though Dad was watching from miles away in his hotel room, it felt like he was right there with me. The phone call couldn’t last for the entire game, but it certainly made my night. 
Dad and I resumed our All-Star game watching tradition the following summer and didn’t miss watching together in the same room again until I hit my “sophomore summer” term at Dartmouth. This was the 1994 All-Star Game, and who do you think called me that night to catch a few at-bats together? That’s right, it was Dad. At that point the tradition was undeniable: if an MLB All-Star Game is being played, my Dad & I are going to share the experience together. It’s just what we do.
I’m fortunate to be able to say that my dad and my best friend are the same person. He earned this status not by virtue of helping to bring me into this world or raising me, but by being there for me during the times I most needed to hear his voice. That random 1984 All-Star Game night was just one of countless times he’s been there when I needed him. So you’ll have to forgive me for chuckling when I hear Major League Baseball and Fox proclaim “this time, it counts!”. For me and my dad, it always has.
