SpringBokVol
I'm the master of my fate
- Joined
- Nov 7, 2008
- Messages
- 24,729
- Likes
- 62,658
From a friend of mine and a VFL: (I thought you all would enjoy this as much as I did)
If you’ve ever wondered why I always wear a red rubber band, today’s a fitting day to learn the backstory.
My dad was a University of Houston alum and spent more than half his life living in Houston. He and my mom traveled to all three of Phi Slama Jama’s Final Fours, the football team once had a social event at our house, and even our tailgate van was red and white.
But when we moved to Nashville in 1989, his son – yeah, me – became a Tennessee fan. Without hesitation, my dad started wearing orange with even more passion than he had ever worn red. When Tennessee football won the national championship on Jan. 4, 1999, he ran around our living room jumping and screaming like a 7-year-old with unchecked access to the Halloween candy, while my mom held me as I equal parts sobbed and laughed.
Nothing could stop him from making my passion his passion, not even on the day he passed away. We lost my dad to a brain tumor on Oct. 5, 2002, the same day that Tennessee football beat Arkansas in six overtimes. He died 15 minutes after Jason Witten’s game-winning catch.
By then, I was fully immersed in the journalism world and covering Tennessee football. My high school fandom had hardened into cold objectivity and professionalism, but even the ethical reporter with a broken heart felt some sense of warmth that night.
After that, I decided that for all the orange my dad had worn for me that I would always wear red for him. So for 22 years, I’ve worn and worn out hundreds of red rubber bands. They’ve been with me for countless hikes, runs, camping trips, sporting events, and so many more passions that my dad and I shared.
We bonded over many things, but make no mistake: I grew up in a baseball house.
My dad was an all-star shortstop in high school, and he listened to every Astros’ game on the radio, meticulously filling out his scorebook. When we lived in Dallas, nothing made my dad laugh harder than when I would run through the batting stance of every Texas Ranger. (My Julio Franco always had him in tears.) When I played as a kid, I insisted on using my plastic giveaway Rangers’ glove instead of my nice leather Rawlings because a 19-year-old, 140-pound Sammy Sosa had signed the plastic one.
So when I tell you that my dad would have fallen head over heels in love with this Tennessee baseball team, it’s still a wild understatement.
He would have loved watching the maturation of Moore and Burke because their lack of discipline at the plate two years ago would have crawled all over him. He would have gleefully told anybody who would listen that having a bat like Kavares Tears in the 6-hole is a cheat code. He would have had to flip a coin between Zander and Kirby for his favorite player because quirky, underdog pitchers were his thing. (He even made his Rangers’ hat look like Charlie Huff’s.) He would have loved seeing Tennessee as a torchbearer bringing college baseball into the American zeitgeist because the 1994 strike distanced him and soured him on the game he loved so dearly. He would have loved how Ramsey’s game analysis has started to imitate my own. (“Dad, that was a dart from Cal Stark.” … “Dad, Drew’s stuff is so good today.” … “Dad, Christian crushed that one.”)
And he would have loved his 42-year-old son’s jubilant, childlike celebrations of Dylan Dreiling’s walkoff because they would have looked an awful lot like his own from Jan. 4, 1999.
We will not be in Omaha tonight or tomorrow. One Knoxville have a home game tonight. As a leader of the supporters group, I have made a commitment to growing soccer in this community, and I learned from my dad to follow through on my commitments.
However…
If Tennessee is playing for a national title on Monday night, Ramsey and I will be there. We will miss Jennifer who will have to work Monday, but we are not missing that game.
We’ll drive as father and son to Charles Schwab Field with my dad’s Tennessee hat, the glove he used his whole life, and three red rubber bands.
I’ll wear one. Ramsey will wear one.
And one will never leave that stadium because for all the orange that will be there, I need it to also have some red for him.
If you’ve ever wondered why I always wear a red rubber band, today’s a fitting day to learn the backstory.
My dad was a University of Houston alum and spent more than half his life living in Houston. He and my mom traveled to all three of Phi Slama Jama’s Final Fours, the football team once had a social event at our house, and even our tailgate van was red and white.
But when we moved to Nashville in 1989, his son – yeah, me – became a Tennessee fan. Without hesitation, my dad started wearing orange with even more passion than he had ever worn red. When Tennessee football won the national championship on Jan. 4, 1999, he ran around our living room jumping and screaming like a 7-year-old with unchecked access to the Halloween candy, while my mom held me as I equal parts sobbed and laughed.
Nothing could stop him from making my passion his passion, not even on the day he passed away. We lost my dad to a brain tumor on Oct. 5, 2002, the same day that Tennessee football beat Arkansas in six overtimes. He died 15 minutes after Jason Witten’s game-winning catch.
By then, I was fully immersed in the journalism world and covering Tennessee football. My high school fandom had hardened into cold objectivity and professionalism, but even the ethical reporter with a broken heart felt some sense of warmth that night.
After that, I decided that for all the orange my dad had worn for me that I would always wear red for him. So for 22 years, I’ve worn and worn out hundreds of red rubber bands. They’ve been with me for countless hikes, runs, camping trips, sporting events, and so many more passions that my dad and I shared.
We bonded over many things, but make no mistake: I grew up in a baseball house.
My dad was an all-star shortstop in high school, and he listened to every Astros’ game on the radio, meticulously filling out his scorebook. When we lived in Dallas, nothing made my dad laugh harder than when I would run through the batting stance of every Texas Ranger. (My Julio Franco always had him in tears.) When I played as a kid, I insisted on using my plastic giveaway Rangers’ glove instead of my nice leather Rawlings because a 19-year-old, 140-pound Sammy Sosa had signed the plastic one.
So when I tell you that my dad would have fallen head over heels in love with this Tennessee baseball team, it’s still a wild understatement.
He would have loved watching the maturation of Moore and Burke because their lack of discipline at the plate two years ago would have crawled all over him. He would have gleefully told anybody who would listen that having a bat like Kavares Tears in the 6-hole is a cheat code. He would have had to flip a coin between Zander and Kirby for his favorite player because quirky, underdog pitchers were his thing. (He even made his Rangers’ hat look like Charlie Huff’s.) He would have loved seeing Tennessee as a torchbearer bringing college baseball into the American zeitgeist because the 1994 strike distanced him and soured him on the game he loved so dearly. He would have loved how Ramsey’s game analysis has started to imitate my own. (“Dad, that was a dart from Cal Stark.” … “Dad, Drew’s stuff is so good today.” … “Dad, Christian crushed that one.”)
And he would have loved his 42-year-old son’s jubilant, childlike celebrations of Dylan Dreiling’s walkoff because they would have looked an awful lot like his own from Jan. 4, 1999.
We will not be in Omaha tonight or tomorrow. One Knoxville have a home game tonight. As a leader of the supporters group, I have made a commitment to growing soccer in this community, and I learned from my dad to follow through on my commitments.
However…
If Tennessee is playing for a national title on Monday night, Ramsey and I will be there. We will miss Jennifer who will have to work Monday, but we are not missing that game.
We’ll drive as father and son to Charles Schwab Field with my dad’s Tennessee hat, the glove he used his whole life, and three red rubber bands.
I’ll wear one. Ramsey will wear one.
And one will never leave that stadium because for all the orange that will be there, I need it to also have some red for him.
Thanks.
