Baseball was introduced to me when I was a child. Not a formal introduction but a presence in our home. My Dad was a devoted fan, and my Mom tolerated the radio “noise” as she called it, in the background as he listened to games. I didn’t really understand the dynamics and wasn’t interested in learning about them.

Saturday afternoons were a ritual for my Dad. After completing his morning errands, he prepared his lunch to enjoy during the ballgame. He had zero cooking skills, and this was before microwaves, but he knew what he liked and how to proceed. Typically, it was either canned sardines or a sandwich made with various lunchmeats or some of both. Pickles; crackers; mustard; a glass bottle of Pepsi, we were not Coke fans, and dessert, nothing fancy, just sweet, completed the meal.

Prior to our television ownership, and I don’t know the year of its arrival, he could only listen to baseball games on the radio. Often we would have to contend with the announcer’s voice being difficult to understand because of static from the station. Not sure if it was the fault of the radio or just how things were back then, but even with interference, my Dad made it work. The aforementioned lunch was enjoyed in front of the TV.

My Dad could magically recite baseball statistics from years prior. Never a boastful person, he loved the game and kept such details in his mind. My Mom would tease him that she wished he could remember what she considered more important facts in life than how many home runs a player had scored 10 years prior, but he wasn’t inspired to change. A rite of passage for me occurred when he took me to a ballgame in Chicago or St. Louis. I didn’t think the game was that exciting, but I loved hearing my Dad interact good-naturedly with people around him; seeing how much fun he had; enjoying the treats he’d buy for me although even I knew they were overpriced; and simply being part of an event thousands of people turned out to see.

I’m still not an avid fan but have enjoyed watching games on television and visiting Wrigley Field and Busch Stadium with family and friends. In my heart I believe my Dad is pleased with my participation and I’m certain he’s still cheering on his favorite teams. I know he was watching and celebrating in 2016 when the Cubs won the World Series.

My son is a Cubs fan, and just to stir up rivalry, my husband began cheering for the Cardinals. It’s been a fun situation for many years and I actually learned some of the players’ names and positions they played. I was also jubilant over the long-awaited World Series win for the guys in blue. This past July my interest in baseball plummeted as three very favorite players, Anthony Rizzo, Javier Baez, and Kris Bryant were traded to other teams.

It won’t be the same, I feel certain. Days later I realized how many players my Dad saw come and go. He never lost his enthusiasm for the game. It seemed fitting to follow accordingly. I’ll miss the players’ charm and familiarity, but the game will continue. Go Cubs, Go!