I remember watching a Dodger game with my buddy, Veggie, probably a decade ago and as he and I moaned at another blown save (Jonathon Broxton, yuk) a female co-worker asked us, what was the deal with baseball. She didn’t and couldn’t understand it.

My response? “It’s about Fathers and Sons.”

She nodded in agreement and walked away. Now, I’m not saying women have no place in baseball, I’m all for that. I’m not saying there haven’t been special moments of Fathers and Daughters in baseball or Mother’s and Daughters. My girl, Heather, is involved with her sons and baseball and she took us all to a World Series game in 2018. But to me, it’s been all about my dad and I. Baseball is playing catch in the backyard with your dad, having him teach you to field a grounder, hit a bunt. These are the moments that I relate to baseball.

When the Dodgers finally won their first championship in thirty-two years, October 27, I was so glad I got to share the moment with my dad. He watches every pitch of every inning of every game. I am a Dodger fanatic and I don’t even do that.

He’s been a fan since 1941 (or so) in Mexico, so when the Dodgers moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles, it didn’t really impact him. He saw a three-game series in the early 60s in St. Louis. The Dodgers swept the Cards behind Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale and Claude Osteen. He took me to see Fernando at the height of Fernandomania, in Cincinnati. I took him to his first playoff game and we bore witness to Broxton giving up a Home Run to the Phillies Matt Stairs that still might be going.

We’ve seen and sighed and struggled and gotten frustrated. But that’s all water under the bridge as finally our beloved Dodgers won. Now, you don’t have to like the Dodgers or be happy for me that they won but believe me when I say, I hope every one of you has the opportunity to watch your team win a World Series and you are with your dad when it happens. Or with your Mom or girlfriend, wife or brother. It’s a special feeling.