There’s
something truly special about sports and their ability to build and strengthen bonds
between father and son. Whether it’s simply playing catch in the backyard, a
cutthroat game of 21 in the driveway (where the loser has to mow the lawn) or
even attending a game together, it’s these moments that allow even the most
awkward relationships to flourish. So in honor of (a now belated) Father’s Day,
let me tell ya a bit about my kick-ass, awesomely-cool dad and some memories we’ll
always have because of sports.
Just
to be clear, my dad isn’t the most hardcore fan. He isn’t an avid follower of
any team, doesn’t track stats and quite frankly would rather watch “This Old
House” or “Mysteries of the Museum” reruns over flipping the channel to, let’s
say, last night’s Game 7 of the NBA Finals. He (most likely) can’t tell you who
won this years’ NBA MVP award, or the historical value behind it. He’s the
outdoorsy type – you know hiking, camping and such – who recently climbed
Devils Tower in near-record time. He couldn’t care less about sports, but always
understood their importance to ME.
In
short, he just gets it.
I
remember my first trip to “The Shoe.” Seeing Script Ohio come to life before my
very eyes, being utterly dumbfounded at the surgeon like precision of the band –
playing instruments while actively spelling words, what?? The numbness of my
tush from sitting on the rock-hard bleachers with no cushion. Witnessing Drew
Brees’ first game in Ohio Stadium where he caught a touchdown pass from Vinny Sutherland
that silenced the Scarlet and Gray faithful. The go-ahead touchdown by Jonathan
Wells late in the 4th, the subsequent blocked field goal by Ohio
State to seal the game, and the rush of my dad and I joining 100,000 strangers
for The Wave. Unforgettable!
I
remember us making the 2-hour plus drive multiple times to Cleveland to watch
the Cavs play in (then-named) Gund Arena. Filled with infant-like joy as we
pulled into the parking garage to watch Allen Iverson put on a show in the
height of his MVP season. The thrill of a random fan snapping a picture of my
Matt Harpring jersey – yes, I, Justin Shepherd owned a Matt Harpring jersey –
because he didn’t know they sold Harpring jerseys. Seeing the ’03-’04 Lakers
during the height of Kobe Bryant’s Colorado case. When I witnessed a 19
year-old LeBron James drop 32, when I first realized just how damn big Shaq’s
feet were, because my dad had gotten us tickets five rows back from courtside. Being
able to hear all the trash-talk and reminiscing about our heated one-on-one
games where mom was forced to step in. I remember my dad – a relatively calm,
quiet-natured person – joining my friend Jordan and I to scream at ungodly decibels
in overtime at Maurice Carter to miss free-throws (this did get us audibly on
SportsCenter that night). However, the most memorable experience came in 2002
when “His Airness,” Michael Jordan returned from yet another basketball hiatus
to play for the Washington Wizards.
There
we were, sitting at the tippy-top of the stands near the rafters, our heads
cocked at a 90-degree angle because we were literally touching the dome, uncomfortably
close to the A/C vents to watch Jordan – and a young, corn-rowed Rip Hamilton –
take on the deadly pick-n-roll combo of Andre Miller and Chris Mihm in a
predictably-packed Gund Arena. While we were both hopeful for a Cavs win, we
also wanted to witness an aging No. 23 do something Jordan-esque. Since we couldn’t
see the game being played on the actual floor, we were relegated to watch the
game from the Jumbotron. We shared nachos, hot dogs, talked about the free hats
given to us courtesy of Aramark, and he even mustered up the courage to ask me
about my then ‘girlfriend’. He shared previously unheard stories of his “rebel
days” as a high-schooler, and I fessed up on why exactly I was suspended from
school a few months earlier – let’s just say I was really into Nelly’s Country
Grammar that year – and we honestly got lost in conversation and paid no mind
to the game that was unfolding.
Until
late in the 4th quarter…..
Less
than 30 seconds left in the game, Cavs up by one, Jordan steps up to the line
and knocks down two free-throws to give the Wizards a 91-90 lead. Cavs call
timeout, shortly after Andre Miller finds Chris Mihm with a lob near the rim
and Mihm misses the tip-in, proceeds to claw the rebound away from a herd of
Wizard defenders and gets the put-back. Cavs lead 92-91 with 1.6 seconds left.
Then it happened. Jordan catches the inbound pass from the free-throw line,
takes a hop-step dribble and lets it fly with only tenths of a second left on
the clock. Swish!! That majestic moment
we both had hoped for, came to fruition. We lost it. Gund Arena lost it. The
place went INSANE over a player from the opposing
team hitting a game-winner. We tossed our drinks, hugged and high-fived
strangers, each other. There we were – a young father and his asshole
step-son – hugging it out over a basketball game, our love for spicy nachos and
the fact that we just learned more about each other in the span of two-ish
hours than we had in the last two years! To think that none of this would’ve been
possible without my dad deciding that he was going to take his moody, sports fiend
son on a trip WITHOUT his momma! Just two guys, watching sports and bonding.
So
thank you to my Dad, and every other dad out there who has used sports as a way
of bonding with their sons. Even if it seems insignificant, or if we think you’re
corny for showing up to the play hoops wearing shorts from the 60’s and a pair
of T-Macs, we appreciate the effort. Thank you for the profound impact you’ve
had on our lives and the experiences you’ve given us. From sons everywhere, we
love you (even though we might not say it in public).
Happy
(Belated) Father’s Day!!
-Shep
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