My father passed away shortly after suffering a heart attack on Monday, July 25. My three older sisters and I will lay dad to rest on Friday.
I don't really know why I'm writting this. It might be because I'm here, at Buckeye Planet, solely because dad instilled in me my buckeye-ness. Or hell, maybe it's just the 35 Miller Lites I drank this evening.
I grew up a Buckeye. I was born and raised a Buckeye.
My father graduated high school in 1957, where he excelled at basketball and held his high school's single game scoring record for 30-some years. He would ultimately decline an opportunity to attend Ohio State, where he might have played basketball alongside Havlicek, Lucas, and Knight. He opted instead to enlist in the military, where he served as a military policeman at the Presido in San Fransisco and a member of the UN Honor Guard in Seoul, South Korea. Dad was discharged in 1961 and returned to Lancaster, OH, where he started a family, his own business, and began a lifetime of civic duty, including Sertoma and Charity Newsies for some 35-odd years.
I'm writting this because it's 4:00AM and I can't sleep. I'm sitting here thinking about dad and what he instilled in me in relation to sports. Dad took me to at least two OSU football games a year; a mens' cagers contest once or twice annually, the odd Clipper's game, to Cincinnati to see the Reds and the Bengals on occassion, to the Memorial Tournament to see Jack, and later Tiger, and so-on and so-on. I saw the Big Red Machine in the late-70s and Boomer and Colinsworth in the early 80s, thanks to dad.
Growing up, I participated in basketball, football, and soccer. Dad never once missed a game, whether home or away. I remember playing football in junior-high, where he would drive myself and 5 or 6 other 12 years olds 20-some miles to our away games, then stop to treat us to ice cream at Dairy Queen on the way home.
In 30 years, he never missed a single sporting event either I or any of my sisters participated in.
My most vivid memory of attending an OSU contest with him is unquestionably that disasterous 1998 game against Michigan State. Though it wasn't 'technically' a night game, any game played in Ohio with a 3:30 scheduled kick-off after daylight savings time has ended will see its second half played under the lights, giving that game a big-time playoff atmosphere. It was a chilly, November day. We were up at the start of the third quarter, pretty handily it seemed, when dad left our seats in the nosebleed row of the south stands to use the port-a-let down below, beneath the bleachers.
He left almost immediately before Damon Moore's INT return, but would not return until midway through the 4th quarter once the wheels had already fallen off. I don't remember the exact scoring sequence, but he was a slight-bit upset when he returned to his seat having missed MSU scoring 10 or 14 or 17 straight points while he was standing in line to take a piss. He had lived and breathed Ohio State football on every play, every snap from his own birth to that point, and I could feel his despiration as what appeared to be the surest thing for Ohio State's first national title since 1968 as it went slipping away into that cold November night.
Dad taught me that it was OK to be vocal and boisterous at football games too.
I remember every time that Joe Montgomery would rip off a big gain, whether 5, 10, or 20 yards, he would stand up and yell "Go Joe!!! Go Joe!!!" with every stride.
I spoke to him the day after Ohio State beat Miami in the Fiesta Bowl, and remember his absolute glee at having finally seen another OSU championship. We talked frequently about this upcoming season and what Teddy Ballgame, or Santonio, Troy, or AJ might do and what might become of an already classic showdown with Texas, even though the visiting teams' plane won't touch down at CMH for another 30-odd days. I sat on his front porch just a few weeks ago, watching the 4th of July parade as this years pride of Lancaster, Bobby Carpenter, rode by on his own float with his father.
Dad taught me how to throw a fastball, a football, shoot a fade-away, kick the game-winning goal, swing a bat, swing a raquet, and swing a golf club; and every moment I did these things growing up I pretended I was doing them in an Ohio State uniform.
I just don't know what to do now that he's gone.
What did/do all of you do with your dads that reminds you of sports and Ohio State?
I don't really know why I'm writting this. It might be because I'm here, at Buckeye Planet, solely because dad instilled in me my buckeye-ness. Or hell, maybe it's just the 35 Miller Lites I drank this evening.
I grew up a Buckeye. I was born and raised a Buckeye.
My father graduated high school in 1957, where he excelled at basketball and held his high school's single game scoring record for 30-some years. He would ultimately decline an opportunity to attend Ohio State, where he might have played basketball alongside Havlicek, Lucas, and Knight. He opted instead to enlist in the military, where he served as a military policeman at the Presido in San Fransisco and a member of the UN Honor Guard in Seoul, South Korea. Dad was discharged in 1961 and returned to Lancaster, OH, where he started a family, his own business, and began a lifetime of civic duty, including Sertoma and Charity Newsies for some 35-odd years.
I'm writting this because it's 4:00AM and I can't sleep. I'm sitting here thinking about dad and what he instilled in me in relation to sports. Dad took me to at least two OSU football games a year; a mens' cagers contest once or twice annually, the odd Clipper's game, to Cincinnati to see the Reds and the Bengals on occassion, to the Memorial Tournament to see Jack, and later Tiger, and so-on and so-on. I saw the Big Red Machine in the late-70s and Boomer and Colinsworth in the early 80s, thanks to dad.
Growing up, I participated in basketball, football, and soccer. Dad never once missed a game, whether home or away. I remember playing football in junior-high, where he would drive myself and 5 or 6 other 12 years olds 20-some miles to our away games, then stop to treat us to ice cream at Dairy Queen on the way home.
In 30 years, he never missed a single sporting event either I or any of my sisters participated in.
My most vivid memory of attending an OSU contest with him is unquestionably that disasterous 1998 game against Michigan State. Though it wasn't 'technically' a night game, any game played in Ohio with a 3:30 scheduled kick-off after daylight savings time has ended will see its second half played under the lights, giving that game a big-time playoff atmosphere. It was a chilly, November day. We were up at the start of the third quarter, pretty handily it seemed, when dad left our seats in the nosebleed row of the south stands to use the port-a-let down below, beneath the bleachers.
He left almost immediately before Damon Moore's INT return, but would not return until midway through the 4th quarter once the wheels had already fallen off. I don't remember the exact scoring sequence, but he was a slight-bit upset when he returned to his seat having missed MSU scoring 10 or 14 or 17 straight points while he was standing in line to take a piss. He had lived and breathed Ohio State football on every play, every snap from his own birth to that point, and I could feel his despiration as what appeared to be the surest thing for Ohio State's first national title since 1968 as it went slipping away into that cold November night.
Dad taught me that it was OK to be vocal and boisterous at football games too.
I remember every time that Joe Montgomery would rip off a big gain, whether 5, 10, or 20 yards, he would stand up and yell "Go Joe!!! Go Joe!!!" with every stride.I spoke to him the day after Ohio State beat Miami in the Fiesta Bowl, and remember his absolute glee at having finally seen another OSU championship. We talked frequently about this upcoming season and what Teddy Ballgame, or Santonio, Troy, or AJ might do and what might become of an already classic showdown with Texas, even though the visiting teams' plane won't touch down at CMH for another 30-odd days. I sat on his front porch just a few weeks ago, watching the 4th of July parade as this years pride of Lancaster, Bobby Carpenter, rode by on his own float with his father.
Dad taught me how to throw a fastball, a football, shoot a fade-away, kick the game-winning goal, swing a bat, swing a raquet, and swing a golf club; and every moment I did these things growing up I pretended I was doing them in an Ohio State uniform.
I just don't know what to do now that he's gone.
What did/do all of you do with your dads that reminds you of sports and Ohio State?
