The Futility Infielder

Just a quick note to wish all of the dads out there, including my own, a Happy Father's Day. Like many of us, I came to baseball through my dad, who served up hittable whiffle-ball offerings in our backyard, told us tales of Reggie Jackson, and taught us to root for the Dodgers. Someday I hope to have kids of my own to do the same for, and having just gotten married, I suppose I'm a step or two closer to that, which is rather mind-blowing. While Andra and I aren't quite ready to pursue that route, the biological clock is ticking: I'd better hope that my surgically repaired shoulder holds out long enough.

I've got a couple of father-related FI favorites to offer up in honor of today. The first is my profile of Reggie, whose exploits provided my family with a benchmark for over a decade:

When I played catch with Dad, occasionally he'd toss me one that would sting my hand or glance off of my glove. If I complained about the location of the throw, he'd shout, "Don't hit 'em so hard, Reggie!" The lesson: be tough, don't complain, and don't expect any opponent to cut you slack.

The second piece is a rumination on Barry Bonds and his father, Bobby Bonds (who had just passed away), Boys of Summer author Roger Kahn and his father (a central theme of that amazing book), and my bond with my own father:

Whether we grow up to be ballplayers or writers or brain surgeons, as children we come to the game via our fathers (and sometimes our mothers) -- somebody who throws us fat whiffle-ball pitches in the backyard, who explains why the glove goes on the opposite hand from the one we throw with, who takes us to the ballpark for the first time and patiently endures our barrage of questions as we struggled to reconcile the stadium game with our own narrow backyard experience, who teaches us how to read a box score and how to fill out a scorecard. Ideally baseball isn't the only vehicle for our bonding, but it's a sure one, with a built-in mechanism for measuring the passage of years and our own growth.

I'm a lucky guy to have such a great father, and our bond goes far beyond baseball. On the day of my wedding last month, Dad added just one more amazing memory and piece of sage advice to a repository rich in both. After weeks of unflappability and calm, I had suddenly (and understandably) grown very nervous and fidgety on the morning of the wedding, struggling to kill time all day long in the company of my friends. About an hour before I went to get dressed for my big moment, Dad took me aside and said, "It's a big day, but don't forget to stop and smell the roses. Take it all in and have fun tonight." By the time the ceremony started, my nervousness had dissipated, and I was calm and relaxed enough to enjoy every moment of my wedding and the revelry that followed. Thanks, Dad.

On the topic of Father's Day, be sure to check out Joe Lederer's surprise tribute to his father, Rich Lederer, over at Baseball Analysts.