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CALLING SIGNALS |
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For All Sports Seasons |
 Charles Fox, left, with his son, columnist Bucky Fox |
A dad's job: Enlighten
your son on sports history
of TheColumnists.com
Sunday will be the 18th Father’s Day without my dad. He died in 1989 at age 77.
No more letters from him extolling “that terrific ironman streak” of Cal Ripken.
No more notes ripping “those crummy Yankees.”
If my dad had continued cheering, he would’ve roared for his beloved underdogs. Especially for Buster Douglas against Mike Tyson in sports’ greatest upset the year after he died. For squads today like the Milwaukee Brewers, Cleveland Cavaliers--and those sudden hockey champions, the Anaheim Ducks.
Without my dad’s rooting, this will be another quiet Father’s Day for me. Time to think. Remember a dad who handed down his sports interest with the touch of a bridge player, which he was.
If there were ever a dad duty, it’s to enlighten his son on sports history. Spotlight the big names: Muhammad Ali, Jesse Owens, Jim Brown, Pete Rose. Flash the big scores: Colts 23, Giants 17; Texas 15, Arkansas 14; Notre Dame 71, UCLA 70.
My dad switched on my light in the summer of 1968. We were camping. The radio had the Oakland A’s swamping the Detroit Tigers. A young player named Reggie Jackson belted two homers. I asked who was this guy, who held the home run record, who was the best hitter in history.
Questions, questions. My dad answered them. When we returned home, he pulled out a baseball book from 1914. It detailed the hitting of Ty Cobb and Honus Wagner, the pitching of Cy Young and Christy Mathewson. I was hooked.
Our sports bond strengthened. In 1970, we rode around the East Coast catching baseball games. Made sure to see Willie Mays at brand-new Three Rivers Stadium, cap flying off and all. Saw the wonderful green outfield under the lights of Yankee Stadium. Rooted against the original version of the Big Red Machine at Shea Stadium.
The grandest part of that trip was finding the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y. I spent so many hours in the museum, even my dad needed a break. He went out to see an American Legion game.
We returned to Cooperstown in 1986. Our game plan this time was to research unassisted triple plays. We spent hours in the Hall’s library until we determined how many unassisted triple plays had been turned. The number was eight, not nine, since Paul Hines didn’t accomplish that rare feat in 1878 after all. Since our summer trek to upstate New York, five more players have pulled the feat. The latest was Colorado shortstop Troy Tulowitzki two months ago.
My dad had this fetish for unassisted triple plays. He marveled at the rarity of one guy getting three outs in one play. Especially the only one in a World Series, that of Bill Wambsganss in 1920. My dad was so intrigued, he visited Wambsganss in 1984. Drove all the way from his home in Carlisle, Pa., to Cleveland to chat with 90-year-old Wamby. The former Cleveland Indian died the next year.
My dad was stuck in other sports grooves. He loved Jim Thorpe, Yogi Berra, Kansas State football, Johnny Unitas, the Olympics, Joe Louis, Babe Didrikson, Babe Ruth, Willie Stargell, Nancy Lopez and Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s on First.” He hated the Dodgers for moving and George Steinbrenner for staying.
My dad wasn’t exactly fond of a certain announcer. If you didn’t know Howard Cosell’s proper name, my dad made you think it was That Bum.
Whether we lived in Germany or Pennsylvania, we drove all over to watch sports. An hour to get to a TV for the 1971 Nebraska-Oklahoma classic. Down to Munich for the 1972 Olympics. Across three states for the 1979 Hall of Fame Bowl in Birmingham, Ala. A quick ride to Washington for the 1987 old-timers’ baseball game at RFK Stadium. Always to Baltimore for the Orioles.
When my dad, Charles Dickens Fox, was dying of bone cancer at Washington’s Walter Reed Army Medical Center in the summer of 1989, he considered heading to Baltimore for another Oriole game. But while we talked, he read that they were on the West Coast.
By the time he was buried at Arlington National Cemetery, the Orioles had returned home and hit the road again. I wanted to tell him on the day he died, they won at Memorial Stadium.
©2007 by Bucky Fox. The photo is courtesy of the author. All rights reserved. This column first posted June 11, 2007.
You can visit Bucky Fox's
website at www.BuckyFox.com
You
can comment on this column online. Please address your message
to either "The Editors" or Bucky Fox. To send an email,
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