It’s My Dad’s Fault.
By Editorial Staff
With less than 3 minutes left in Game 6 of the 2004 Eastern Conference Finals, Keith Primeau skated around the back of the Tampa Bay Lighting goal and tapped in the puck tying the game 4-4 sending a Philadelphia crowd into a frenzy. Watching on TV I jumped up and ran to find my Dad. See he’s a Flyers fan too, but also convinced that in big games the Flyers will lose if he watches important moments in the game. It’s sort of a theoretical curse, and somewhat backed up by fact. Either way, in this most epic time of celebration I had no idea where he was, the only person that knew “Who saved more than God” and could tell me what Scott Hartnell was good at, was hiding in the basement. (The answers being “Bernie Parent”, and “fall down while skating”)…we’ll get back to this later..
I was born in Flemmington New Jersey, according to Mapquest that’s about an hour from Philly. While I remember almost nothing about living there, I still try and tell people I’m from just outside of Philly when they ask where I was born. It’s a lie, but it feels great saying it. My Dad’s parents live in West Chester PA, so that side of the family is deeply rooted in Philly sports, every visit would indirectly be another lesson in Philadelphia culture, each in their own very unique way. While I didn’t really watch professional sports that much while I was younger, I knew what it was like to be a Philly fan. A lot of disappointment, and a lot of confusion about why God was putting your through something like this. If there was anything my Dad taught me, from all of that pain came loyalty. You didn’t abandon a team when they were doing bad. They were your team.
Growing up as an only child for the first five years of my life put me in pretty prime position to be groomed as a sports fan. While I was never put through the rigors of little league, (neither of my parents are the type to make you run laps around the house reminding you that sitting on the couch won’t make you run the base paths any faster) there always seemed to be a football or soccer ball somewhere close by. My dad and I would play “Rolling in the dirt” agame that essentially was me trying to juke past him while holding a football trying to touch the green, turtle shaped sandbox in our backyard. In retrospect I would have been a killer fullback. If there was anything that would have gotten me ready for a goal line offense it would have been that game.
Right around the time my brother was born I began my trip into Penn State fandom. At the time Kerry Collins was the quarterback, doing all of the things that made 1994 so special. To say I was hooked would be an understatement. We’d go to a few Blue-White games back when it wasn’t a huge event and the Blue Band was in a different place. My family watched a few games on tv but for the most part I would listen on the radio, hung to Steve Jones every word. I’m sure if my Mom could have made her voice sound like his she would have. After each game a long game of catch would follow while I attempted to impress my Dad with the limited football knowledge I had at the time. Being 7 or so years old that was pretty much limited to offsides and how many points a touchdown was worth. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that I’ve learned more about football in the backyard of 219 Creekside drive than anywhere else. While I’ve gotten older, and my understanding of zone blocking has gotten a bit better, it’s safe to say the objective of playing catch in the backyard has never really changed.
In a lot of ways being a fan of a team is part of a family tradition, your parents tell who and who not to like and you just bring that along with you in life. Just the other day it occured to me “I hate John Tortorella, but I have no good reason too.” Watching the Rangers replay over lunch it came to me that while the Flyer’s obvious Atlantic Divisional foe is an easy team to root against, I seemed to have a seperate dislike for their coach. Thinking about it some more I was able to come up with a list of coaches I just didn’t like. As pretty friendly person I was sort of shocked by the number of things in sports I had really come to dislike.
Oh that’s right, Dad..
I took my Dad to the Penn State- Temple game, we picked up some pretty solid tickets on the 50 yardline and got to watch a pretty good game. While I’ve been to a lot of Penn State football games, I’ve only been to a few with my parents all of which have been some of the games I’ve enjoyed the most. It’s like a trip back to the backyard, tossing the ball and talking sports. That’s the great thing about sports, and really what fandom is all about. It’s not jumping onto a bandwagon when the team is winning, it’s about the struggle, and being able to share that struggle so when things get better you have somebody to be excited with. When the Flyers made it to the Stanley Cup Finals this past season I’ve never really wanted something as badly as I wanted them to win. My Dad likes to pretend it’s just a game and he doesn’t care “that much” but you can tell he does. For better or worse, that’s rubbed off on me.
…so I found my Dad, in the basement, “working” or pacing around depending on who you ask. And made him come upstairs for overtime, the whole time he pretends that “it’s just a game”. But this happened, and that’s why sports are awesome. Happy Birthday.