I can't remember a major league game where I could make eye contact with my dad. I kept wondering if he was going to yell at me for hanging a pitch or something.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
My dad introduced me to baseball. Then one of my friends asked if I could play on a team; my dad said I could, and I just fell in love with the game.
Even though my dad was a manager in the minor leagues, I still traveled around with him and saw it from the field out. Now, as an owner, you're kind of looking from the whole baseball activity from outside in, from a fan's perspective.
The only other time I can recall my dad getting upset at me was when I missed a hockey practice. My parents were away, so my buddy and I decided to skip it. I never told my dad about it, but he found out from the coach.
Acting was something fun that my dad did, but baseball is what he really wanted to do.
My dad was my coach in baseball and early on in basketball, so playing baseball was something we always did.
When I went to home plate in a game-tied situation or with a chance to do something and help the ballclub win one, I'd try to make eye contact with the pitcher.
A tall, thin old man waving a scorecard from the corner of his dugout. That's baseball.
I've seen fathers criticizing their sons the moment a game's over. Not my dad. It doesn't matter if I threw an interception or a Hail Mary, he always says, 'Good job, son, I'm proud of you.' Then he shakes my hand and gives me a hug. Every time.
Baseball is a movable conversation across nine innings. It is eye contact with the person seated next to you in a park where the pitcher is separated from the batter by 60 feet, six inches or in a family room where a 60-inch TV screen hangs on the wall.
I remember being, like, 5 years old, and my dad took me to a Yankees-Mets game. My dad had me on his shoulders and taught me one of the most important lessons about sports. He said, 'Jesse, just remember one thing, the Mets suck.'
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