The Best Playoffs Yet

4 years ago, I wrote about what baseball, particularly Opening Day, means to me. 

Today, two kids later, the World Series is allowing me to experience the game in a new way.

Allow me a slight diversion - my boys are both former one percenters, though not in the way you think. They were born under the growth curve, with my oldest technically classified as “failure to thrive.” A tiny, skinny little guy when young myself, I know the hardships that lie ahead. They’ll always be a few inches, quite a few pounds and a number of miles per hour behind their buddies. With that in mind, Jessica and I chose to hedge their bets. 

Considering how young my boys are (3 and just under 2), T.V. is not high on the list of their activities.  Aside from Sunday movie nights and the occasional tractor video, we keep the boys outside, running around. Except for maybe 5 or 6 times a year when a major golf tournament is on, or No Laying Up drops a great Tourist Sauce video. 

That’s right - despite growing up with a bat and glove at all times, I pushed my boys to be… golf kids. Shep, the oldest, has had a kid’s club of some sort since his first birthday. Today, he can knock a plastic golf ball straight out of our backyard. His second birthday was literally golf themed. Two old, past-their-prime adult Ben Hogan wedges sit next to my dresser, ready for the boys to play with every morning when they come racing in to our room.

Shep asks when he’ll be old enough to go on a golf trip with me and Papa. Hank, his brother, comes to blows with Shep almost daily over who gets to play with their favorite club first.

Jessica and I have built golf, not baseball, to be the sport of our little family. To be fair, it was relatively easy to do considering my grandfather, aunt and uncle are all professionals and I now play far more than I ever did. 

But still, emotionally, it was a hard decision for me. For full transparency, even the pro golfers in my family are the same ones that would say baseball is actually their favorite sport. I’m fighting an uphill battle here.

This isn’t to say my love for baseball is gone. I still play fantasy baseball and watch a game or two when I can. Last week I finished a book written about the 2017 Yankees season. That’s right - not a book on the history of the Yankees, or a year when they won it all, but a book on ONE SEASON where they simply did fine. I admit I can be… passionate. 

Sharing my passion, my good friend Kevin bought Shep three Yankees onesies when he was born. These have managed to make it through both Shep and Hank. Alongside the first birthday present of a golf club, I slipped Shep an Aaron Judge shirt. At Christmas last year, we gave Hank the Judge shirt and Shep a Juan Soto shirt. Still, when the boys see their plastic bat and wiffle balls around, they quickly pass them up for a chance to “go golf” out back. 

When the playoffs came this year and the Yankees had one of the best teams they’ve fielded in years, I was all in. Before the first ALDS game and the boys’ dinner time, I dressed Shep and Hank in their Yankees shirts, let them know this was the big day and that baseball was on. We would watch the game during dinner, a huge departure from every day life. 

Probably drawn more to the allure of T.V. on a Tuesday and staying up a little past their bed time than anything, they jumped with excitement. 

I’m both proud and ashamed to say that each night a game has been on, I’ve done the same thing. I’ve even started sneaking my phone into bedtime so they can watch an inning or two while they take a bath, get jammies on and… even pray. I know, I’m not the best example in this case, but I think God will let it slide. 

When Giancarlo Stanton hit a massive home run in game 4 of the ALCS, my family of four was watching in the boys’ bedroom. We all jumped around like crazy, with Shep saying “bye bye ball!” (the only way I could teach him about a home run) over and over. 

I took the boys to dinner Saturday with some family friends while Jessica went to see Taylor Swift (yes, her passion for Taylor actually outshines mine for the Yankees). When getting dressed, Shep asked if the Yankees played that night. After getting an affirmative, he demanded to wear his Soto shirt. He then demanded Hank wear his Judge shirt and I wear my Yankees hat. Off we went, matching in our Yankees gear. 

All this to say, baseball once again feels like the most important sport in my house. The coolest part is getting to enjoy it with Shep and Hank, the two crazies running around asking when we can watch another game. They ask to wear their Yankees shirts every night; laundry has been a nightmare. Even Jessica sits down to watch, occasionally on the edge of her seat. It turns out that a passion for baseball may just run in the blood, lurking there, no matter what Jess and I have tried to do on the golf front.

While I’ve always loved baseball and the Yankees, this is easily one of my favorite versions so far. Even if it means missing an inning to make sure Hank (our constantly sleep deprived child) finally closes his eyes, getting to experience the postseason with my boys is incredible. 

I can’t wait to see how they fall in love with the sport as they get older and the experiences we’ll share, just like I was (and still am) so fortunate to do with my parents. 

Go Yankees!