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I'm not saying I'm a complete stone, but I'm not big on emotional stuff. However, there are a few things that can make me cry (outside of funerals):

  • The scene in Father of the Bride when they're playing basketball
  • The scene in the Wonder Years when "We've Got Tonight" is playing
  • The scene in "A League of Their Own" when Marla Hooch's dad says goodbye to his daughter
  • The last episode of the Wonder Years
  • The end of the "For Love of the Game"
The lowest hanging fruit may be fathers...or sports. I don't know. I hate those things in like Highlights Magazine (or the SATs, I guess, which would be a more appropriate analogy?) that say "Which one doesn't belong?" You can make an argument for ANY of them not belonging. It's so dumb.

I digress. As usual. My point is that last night was like the blitzkrieg on my emotions. Robinson Cano makes history by knocking out the most long balls ever in the 2nd round of the HR derby. Not only that, but he does so by trampling on the Red Sux. Not only THAT, but he does it off his father's pitches.

And then, of course, throw in the fact that these weren't just long balls. They were spacecraft launches. It was like that Prince Fielder commercial where he hits a ball that sails around the world.

472 feet?? Seriously? Off a meatball? I mean, it wasn't like you had Farnsworth up there throwing heaters down the pipe. It was Jose Cano.

(Jose Cano, btw is only 49 years old. It's the theory of relativity in action right there. I see him pitching to Robbie and he looks like a father. Meaning, he looks like a somewhat oldish man, a little lost, a lot proud. But he's only 49. I mean, he could theoretically be playing pro ball right now, taking in 4pm early bird specials with Wakefield et al.)

It wasn't just the father-son relationship that had lumps forming in my throat. It was the Yankee family relationship, too. Russell Martin and Grandy acting like Peyton Manning at Super Bowl 42, like proud older brothers bursting at the seams, not knowing what to do first, where to jump, where to yell.

It's amazing, that feeling of pride. It can't be manufactured.

Like when my sister got promoted, or when my other sister graduated magna cum laude, or when my Mom was in the paper for spearheading Long Beach's beautification initiative, or when my Dad came in 2nd in the Borgata poker tournament.

When Strange passed the bar, or when Pete became a Marine, or when my cousin won the Hummerdinger award.

When Jack gets a part in a play, or when Krista wrote a novel, or when Chase gets promoted. When Jelsen was clerking, when Annee got a new job, when Allison met Amos, when Megan had Reagan.

Pride. It's one of the last few remaining vestiges of goodness in the world, because it's completely selfless. You stand nothing to gain, it's involuntary, and uncontainable. It reminds us that there are parts of society that aren't governed by a self-serving impetus.

I never liked the All Star Break until last night. Until last night, I thought it was a pointless exhibition endeavor. I hated the ambiguous sense of flat competition it's based on. Last night, it was baseball stripped of its self-aggrandizing pride, and drenched in that inimitable feeling of being proud.

There's a difference.

And, like Robert Frost said, 'THAT has made all the difference.'

Congrats, Canos. And thank you.

1 Comment:

  1. Rob Anderson said...
    Beautifully written, and heartfelt. Thank you.

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