Son Brings Dad Back to Baseball
Can 13-year-olds rekindle the national passion?
Today’s Hemingway, James Sprague, is a Cincinnati native, Army veteran and UC graduate. He’s also an award-winning journalist and trade magazine editor based in the Tri-State area. He is one of about 100 people left in this world who still follow and watch boxing religiously and believes the bill on a ballcap needs to be rolled, not stiff and flat.
James has a few differing opinions on what I called our increasingly “casual’’ relationship with baseball. A big Mobster welcome for James Sprague. . .
At least for one day this season in Cincinnati, the love affair between us and baseball was in full bloom. Doc wrote the other day that such love had become “casual” compared with days gone by, but a record home crowd, picture-perfect weather and the excitement of Opening Day yesterday could only be tempered slightly by the 5-4 loss to Doc’s PWS.
Speaking of love affairs and baseball, it was Doc’s column on Wednesday which prompted me to say it might be a little premature to sound the death knell for baseball, at least when it comes to the younger generation’s interest in it. My current firsthand experience, with my own son, is what prompts this thought.
I am sure there are other kids out there like my 13-year-old son Philip, who unexpectedly just this year decided he is into baseball, wants to play it and loves everything about it. Right?
Without the bias we all have as parents, Philip is certainly one of the smartest 13-year-olds I have come across. He already knows he wants to go to Purdue for computer engineering when he graduates from high school in 2027, for Pete's sake. And, thankfully, he has the grades to prove it.
When I was 13, I was still trying to figure out how to operate my dad’s Craftsman lawnmower, without running over the corner of the sidewalk, chipping the cement, and catching hell from the old man. Yet, here is my kid, at the same age, writing basic computer code for fun and planning his future at college and beyond. I can find it mind-blowing at times. (He can also operate a mower better than I could at 13.)
On the flipside of the coin, however, the young man has spent approximately three short stints of his youth in an organized sport, and not one of them was baseball. He has not been an organized youth sports diehard. He has had his passing fancies with YMCA soccer for a season, followed by a season of youth wrestling (mostly because he had discovered WWE) and, just this past winter, played on his eighth-grade school basketball team -- the first time he ever played organized basketball.
Meanwhile, I played baseball from tee ball all the way up to high school and basketball from kindergarten to junior high. If it were winter or summer, I would play basketball or baseball. Those were absolutes in my childhood, like the sun rising in the east and Gold Star being better than Skyline.
But now suddenly, the kid who was all about Pokémon, Yu-Gi-Oh and video games wants to play baseball. He wants a new glove for his birthday in late April. His mother signed him up for a team in the local Babe Ruth League, and practices start soon. He spends his evenings, after doing his homework, either outside pitching, catching, and hitting with his next-door neighbor friend, or trading baseball cards – I gifted him my baseball card collection about a month and a half ago, after learning of his new love – with said neighbor.
This kid will text me at 7 o’clock at night to ask my opinion on his baseball card trades. “I am trading Gabe a Joey Votto rookie for a Yadier Molina rookie card. What do you think of that trade, Dad?”
“Ummm, sounds like an even trade, buddy. Might even be a little in your favor. Make it if you want to. Just do not go trading that Ken Griffey Jr. 1989 Topps Traded rookie card for a Yadier Molina, you hear me?”
Prior to a couple of months ago, I had done nothing to encourage Philip to play baseball. I have never been “that” parent, pushing their kids to play a sport so they could relive the supposed “glory days” of their youth. I did not do it with his older sisters, either. They dabbled in soccer, found it not for them, and moved on to other pursuits like the violin or children’s theater.
Philip had only been to one Reds game, with me, back when he was 3, and a Florence Y’alls game two years ago. He has been a couple of other times to Reds games with his mother and sisters, but not on a religious basis. While I had loved baseball, it was not a love that I worked on passing down to my kids. They never seemed to have any interest in it, besides the activity of going to a ballgame and getting soft serve in a mini-helmet, and my interest had been waning in recent years due to crappy teams and the financial politics of baseball, among other things.
That said, I had to ask him a few weeks ago where this new love of baseball came from. “From watching videos on YouTube,” he replied.
“What? Are you kidding me?”
“No. I’ve been watching YouTube baseball shorts. It’s amazing what some of these players can do.”
That is how my son’s sudden love of baseball was kindled – YouTube – and, despite how ludicrous it sounds to me, it has rekindled some of my love for the game. I’ve gone out and a gotten a glove for the first time in years ($6 at a St. Vincent De Paul thrift shop), found myself purchasing a few packs of baseball cards for us and have enjoyed the simplicity of playing catch, hearing and feeling the pop of the ball in the glove, and relishing the unspoken bond that is strengthened between a father and son through the act of tossing a ball around.
We even have plans to attend a Reds game this year, even though we both acknowledge they will likely stink up the joint in ‘23.
All because of YouTube. What a world, huh?
TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . This rockin’ tune from “Back to the Future” seemed apropos today, given my son’s newfound love of baseball. Enjoy, and thanks for reading today!
Good work Dad. Good job today. I’ve been taking my kids who are 5/7/9 since they were toddlers. We have a brick at the stadium and go to 6-8 games per year, all of which require 3-5 innings playing wiffleball, climbing the swing set, and standing in line for food.
It’s not exactly a relaxing day at the park, but it’s our thing. I tell them when we stand over the brick: come back here to this spot, no matter what, all three of you, when you’re my age and I’m gone and remember all the good times we had at Reds games.
Now let’s get a win today so the fans don’t boo the team and ownership like Thursday. Sounded like Bungles fans from 3 short years ago.
As a long time ( fifty + years) umpire, I always liked the 10 to 13 years old games. The kids, as a whole, had so much more enthusiasm than the older kids. It was fun to match their enthusiasm and joy.