Founders' Choice: Games With My Dad

On Fathers Day, I want to introduce you to the man who showed me my first stadiums.

Dad and me, shivering at our last Packers Game in the cold, 2007.

Today’s piece is the next in our “Founders Choice” series for the summer where we will regularly write about topics that different founding subscribers have suggested they would very much like to have me address. This one is from a Founder named John Preston who requested a piece about fathers/sons and sporting events. Let me give it a shot on this Father’s Day.

I occasionally get asked about how big of a sports home I came from. Was my dad in sports media? What sort of setting put you on this path?

Well, the fact of the matter is that my dad has always had an interest in sports, but it has always been significantly different than mine. I won’t speak for him, but from my perspective as his oldest son, I will tell you that he has always enjoyed it more when it wasn’t making him miserable.

He always worked overnights on the railroad when I was growing up, so he would sleep most days and wake up about dinner time. Then, he would have several hours at home before it was off to work from 10pm until about 7am and then back to sleep and do it again. He seemed to enjoy sports to a degree, but on his terms. The best way for me to explain this would be with this anecdote.

He used to wake up to see certain games and the Packers were part of the routine. Of course, they would only play noon games back then and therefore waking up to be disappointed was not a great treat for him. When I was very young I noticed two things. I was really happy when sports were on and dad was often not. He seemed annoyed at just about every part of the sports experience and while I seemed thrilled to watch our teams, it seemed like an unpleasant part of his day.

Then, one day, the VCR was invented. I can’t tell you when the first one was invented, but I can tell you when it reached our house. 1987. I was 14 and it changed everything for my dad and sports. Because that was the first year that he realized his game watching experience was going to start being on his terms. Now, as long as his son would not screw it up – by changing the channel during recordings like I did for the Kirk Gibson World Series home run – he would watch the game when he woke up.

But, he could rig it even better yet. My dad would only watch games of his teams if he was given the head nod from mom or me that it was a happy game. Meaning that from now on, he was only going to watch the wins. So, for years and years, he would go to work, get his full sleep, wake up and someone would tell him the news. “You are going to want to see this one, dad” or the alternative, “don’t bother with the game. You won’t be very interested.”

I didn’t understand it because I wanted to know the next chapter for my teams no matter what happened, but I will admit, there is something to that strategy of how to avoid being irritated by your team. Of course, it might mean that he was only seeing three or four games a year some seasons. He didn’t seem to mind too much, though.

I was obsessed with sports as a kid. Just about everything in my entire childhood revolved around my teams, my card collection, my hopes of playing sports for a living some day, my posters of basketball stars, and my video tapes of games I started recording so I could watch happy games anytime I wanted. I was a sports nerd (with a fair amount of Star Wars nerd mixed in, too), but it wasn’t because I came from a long line of sports nerds. No, I think it was more because I could see that working all night and sleeping all day to support the family seemed like a hard way to make a living and I guess I preferred this approach to life where every day there was a new game to watch and describe like those guys on TV.

My dad had a real job where he had to sleep all day to recover and all of my friends’ dads had jobs they didn’t seem to love that much, neither. But, these guys on TV and in the newspaper who were talking to athletes and watching games every night were apparently “working”, too. I wonder if I could do that idea of sports “work” if I cannot play in the NBA? My wheels started turning on that idea and here I type to you as I close in on my 52nd birthday and having never had to work a real job in my life. I have always made a living covering games that talented people play and I must tell you, it has never stopped being something I love.

My dad did not seem to love going to work and my goal – probably from viewing how hard his work life seemed – was to find something that would be a bit more fun.

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That background setup was to get to this basic point; my dad was not that into sports, but it didn’t take him long to see that I was. He knew what I was interested in and he made sure that I was shown through the doors of my interests at an early age. My memories are varied and curated by my brain, but if I were to make a brief list of my biggest sports memories as a boy, they all seem to involve my dad. He was not an athlete and he was not a huge fan, but that wasn’t required to lead your son in a particular direction. As they say in parenting, you just have to meet your son at his level and take an interest in what he enjoys. My dad did that and I can make you quite a list of what that looks like.

For Christmas in 1982, my parents bought me the 1982 Topps Baseball Card set. I had been deep into baseball cards for a few years before that, but now I had a complete set in perfect mint condition. I still remember when it arrived in the mail and the magic that this new possession brought to my life. 792 cards lined up perfectly. I was in love like never before. In retrospect, it wasn’t the best design that Topps ever rolled out there, but it was my first prized possession. The Robin Yount card was a pretty big deal to me, but my 2024 eyes tell me they didn’t put much work into this one at Topps.

But, the cards were one thing. Going to actually see the Brewers, now that is different altogether.

As I think about my dad and what he did to make memories with me and how lucky I am to have two living parents this late in my life, I am easily reminded about those days that will live in my brain forever. You see, my dad didn’t feel about sports like I did and he sure didn’t like stadiums, crowds, traffic, or the prices of going to games. I know this because when I left the house for college, he stopped going to games unless I took him. Looking back, he was doing all of that and putting up with all of that for me. As a kid, you never consider that, but as a parent yourself, it does all click together in place and start to make sense. Dad was only going to games because he loved so much how much I loved it.

Now, back to 1982. So, I was turning 10 that June and one night I was given a few choices for what we should do on my birthday. I have no idea what the other choices were because the winner was when I heard “Brewers Game” was an option. I cannot tell you how quickly that was the winner of whatever contest we were having. I can go to a major league baseball game? How is that even a possibility?

So, the very first professional sporting event that I can specifically vouch to having attended was June 23, 1982. I was nine for three more days and I was watching a rematch of the 1981 playoff series between the mighty Yankees and the Brew Crew:

I remember this day pretty clearly because dad positioned it as “My Brewers Game” and therefore the team was going to really pour their hearts into this one. He wasn’t joking. He was sure they were not going to let the Yankees win due to this special occasion.

Honestly, it was a good lesson for me. Goose Gossage came on in the 7th and pitched one of his normal 8-out saves and closed the door on any Brewers comeback. I am pretty sure in the 9th, my heart sank when I realized Goose wasn’t interested in my birthday. I have never forgotten that day and I promise when Gossage’s name comes up - or even Roy Smalley, who had hit a big home run in the 5th inning – I think back to this momentous day. They ruined “My Brewers Game.” From there, it became a pretty standard part of our summer. Every chance I would get, I wanted to see major league baseball in person. It was unbelievable how close you could get to those guys on the baseball cards and they might even sign them for you. What a time. And dad made that all happen even though he couldn’t stand being in crowds. I was in heaven and he wasn’t. But, at the time, it was a sacrifice we were both willing to make.

Because it was the first one, I think that would be one of my three more memorable sporting events with my dad. I would like to tell you about the other two now.

The next one was April 13, 1987.

So, the giant rotary dial phone in our kitchen rang one day that winter and it was my dad needing to talk to 14-year old me. He wanted to know which game he should pick because he wanted to use the coupons from his Entertainment book to take me to see the Bucks. I am sure everyone who was alive back then remembers those books that were loaded with coupons to everywhere and if you went to the back, the Bucks and Brewers would always do the buy-one-get-one for weeknight games where they had trouble selling tickets.

Again, the Bucks would pick like four games in the spring time and they were all Monday or Tuesday Nights, so he listed the games. “February 24 is Indiana. March 9 is Phoenix. April 13 is Chicago. You can pick one.”

I was on the spot, but I responded with rapidity. “Did you just say, Chicago?” How could the Chicago Bulls be available on a coupon night? I couldn’t believe he said it but I also told him to immediately grab tickets for Chicago. My excitement levels were off the charts. Somehow, on a buy-one-get-one deal, we were going to see Michael Jordan in person. This cannot be real.

Now, keep in mind, this was early Michael. Very early. With Doug Collins and Charles Oakley. This was years before he would win a title and he was just 23 years old. This was the first year “MJ” would win the league’s scoring title at 37.1 a game. This was the original “Air Jordan” era and I couldn’t believe this was about to happen.

We got there early and I absolutely was one of the kids at the tunnel for the road team that was able to acquire a half-hearted touch of my hand from his Airness on that evening down on the floor at the Mecca. And then, I did something I am not proud of. I decided that it was ok if the Bucks lost that game because I wanted Michael Jordan to perform some of his magic in front of me and my dad. I was a loyal Bucks fan, I thought. But, this was Air Jordan and if Air Jordan needs to win on this Monday Night in Milwaukee, I wanted him to have it.

We worked our way up to one of the highest seats at the Mecca and I was as focused as a kid could ever be watching a superhero work. To this day, I treasure that I actually have a copy of the TBS broadcast of this classic. You can see some awesome clips here.

Not only did he need it, but he scored 50. I could not believe I witnessed Air Jordan score 50 at the Mecca and I don’t mind saying that my dad was the hero for making it real. The bragging rights I had on all of my friends for a solid year was locked in. I could tell them what he was like, because I saw him – and touched him – in person. And it all started because Dad made it happen with a coupon.

The last date was December 23, 2007.

This was the time my dad decided he was done going to games with me. So you might realize on here that there are no Packers games. Dad never took me to Lambeau Field because I am sure it just never worked out. You would not believe how hard it was to get tickets to that place back then, despite the football team being awful. They were sold out for years and if that was true, there was never a single time the public was invited to come see the Packers play. For a blue-collar guy like my dad, I can see how back then before the internet provided solutions, it was never really offered so we just assumed that Lambeau Field was only a place we get to see on television.

But, as I got older and Brett Favre and Mike Holmgren changed the levels of interest in that franchise, I decided the first thing I am doing when I get old enough and get employed is to get us in to Lambeau Field. If my dad couldn’t get me in there, well, I would figure it out when I got out of college. And by golly, I did. My first year out of college was my first year inside Lambeau with my buddies. Then, I vowed to go every year to that place, no matter where I was living. I would not say I have kept that vow for these 30 years, but I have definitely gone 25 times or more.

One of the real treats was to take Dad as part of the annual trip. Not sure how many times we went, but it was quite a few. It felt amazing to find us tickets and take my dad to the stadium where we always wanted to go but could never figure out how. The internet and being willing to pay whatever were my secrets, but I definitely understand how dad drew a line in the sand of what he would pay in the 1980’s to be frustrated by Coach Bart Starr and his mediocre teams.

But, now we are going together. We went several times and they were almost all around Christmas when I could get vacation from my jobs in Virginia and then Dallas. You know, Christmas in Wisconsin means it is very, very cold. As we both got older, we both got even colder at these games. He would invariably marvel at the knuckleheads who would go shirtless to these games and accuse them of being full of “antifreeze” which we all know is code for being drunk. You won’t believe how many lessons about alcohol can be taught at Brewers and Packers games growing up!

Anyway, one year, I see the Packers don’t have a home game during Christmas, so I audible to Green Bay at Chicago on December 23. “Dad, we can drive to Chicago and see the game!” He always said yes, because he wanted to hang out, but I didn’t understand what waited for us in Chicago. It was bad. Really bad.

The day was so cold I still shiver thinking about it. It was a great Packers team against an awful Bears team, yet Green Bay never considered playing well and the Bears played the best game of their season. I am certain Green Bay saw the conditions and agreed to just go through the motions to get it over with. As I recall, it cost them homefield advantage, but cold would bite them harder in a couple weeks time when Brett Favre sort of proved he wasn’t interested in playing in this cold anymore.

I found this passage from a Packers diehard and agreed with him completely:

However, the coldest three hours of my life were on Dec. 23, 2007, the last time our beloved Pack traveled to Chicago. There is something about the wind coming off the lake that may prevent me from ever again, setting foot, in a windy, December, Soldier Field. Simply put ... not fun," said Hyland. 

The wind that day was insane. I cannot describe how bad 45mph feels when it is that cold and when your team is getting pounded by four touchdowns. We left early and justified it because “the Packers never even showed up.”

It was the coldest day of our lives even though we have lived below zero many times. But, never in the upper deck at Soldier Field with 45 mph gusting off the lake right in our face.

We were driving back to our house that afternoon with the wind trying to blow my rental car off the road completely. Dad was a good trooper that day, but also was about to turn 60. He was thrilled to go to games with his adult son, but that day was the last time he was ever going to go to a game where he would need a coat. He was done with the holiday tradition of outdoor football.

“I think I am done going to these, Bob.” He was trying to break the news to me gently and with a smile, but I was too busy feeling bad about taking him to such a horrid experience. It wasn’t quite the Christmas gift that I had in mind.

I still smile when I think of that memory, because I realize I flew us both too close to the sun. Especially since the sun was freezing that day. That picture at the top of this essay was my dad taking a selfie of us back before selfie’s were a thing. That is with his giant telephoto lens turned back around at us as we were frozen and miserable.

Dad will still go with me to a game, but only in temperature-controlled settings. I don’t blame him, because I only like trips to Lambeau now if I can go before December. Watching sub-zero football is a young man’s game. To prove it, because of Dad retiring, I switched over to my son a decade back and found a much more reasonable 25-degree with no wind day. It is now our thing when we can pull it off.

With Brett, 2012

So, those are my three most memorable games with Dad. Only now, as I write this, do I realize that they were all losses for the home team. The three games I remember the best were trips back to the car were we had to figure out what went wrong.

I guess that isn’t the point. The point of going to games with Dad is knowing that those are the days you will always remember. Those few hours last in your brain for decades. They make impressions that last a lifetime and usually, you don’t even remember what happened in the games, who your team was playing, or any of it. The only thing you remember is that you were with your dad and you were as happy as you could be. Those memories fuel those ideas of taking our kids to games now. Maybe, in 30 years, they will remember that day out with Dad.

And on Father’s Day, I suppose that is what this fatherhood thing is all about.