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Gordon Glantz is the managing editor of the Times Herald and an award winning columnist.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Those Were The Days

I never thought there would be a time when I would consider myself a casual sports fan, but -- with the exception of the NFL (remember that?) and NHL -- that's what I've become.

I don't watch baseball (except in the playoffs). Because the Phillies are enjoying some Glory Days (obligatory Springsteen reference), I do "monitor" games (watch the Phillies bat, which doesn't take too long these days, and then click away to CNN).

Boxing used to be cool, but that was before Don King stuck his fangs into it.

Golf, NASCAR ... not sports. Tennis, no rooting interest in individuals.

College basketball and football is all about my alma mater, Temple.

The NBA? A long, sad story. The short version is that there are too many teams -- and too many players stealing paychecks -- to make the drama anything more than manufactured.

The players are amazing athletes, but the game just isn't what it used to be. It's either a dunk or a three-pointer. The fluidity, which is what made the game an urban ballet in its day, is largely gone.

I might have predicted I would get this point one day, maybe as a grumpy old man, but not yet.

Got to say, this is a surprise.

To say I was weaned on sports would be an understatement.

During the week, I played too much for my own good (my report cards showed it). My maternal grandfather, with whom I spent a lot of time, was always watching sports -- even if the only choices were roller derby or midget wrestling.

My stepfather was a fan, but didn't see the point of spending money on tickets to games. Reportedly athletic in his day, I would seek his council on throwing a block or a curve. Sometimes, I'd get it. Sometimes, I'd get a lecture on how stupid sports were compared to school (then he would turn on a game).

No matter, that all changed on weekends.

My father and I shared the games that others played to the extent that it became conduit through which we communicated even basic thoughts between us.

When I visited my dad and his family (all girls), the slate was full (probably because his second marriage was miserable).

Depending on the time of year, there could be a multitude events to attend and/or watch on television.

My father had, or shared, season tickets to the Eagles, 76ers and Phillies (a Sunday package, with all the groovy giveaways).

That could make for a busy slate.

In October, for example, we could have a Sixers game on a Friday night, a Temple football game on a Saturday afternoon, a Flyers game Saturday night, an Eagles game on Sunday and maybe -- since this was the 1970s -- a Phillies' playoff loss at night.

During other parts of the year, even though some of the above would fade into the the temporary abyss of heartbreak, the likes of Big 5 basketball would enter the picture.

And we weren't casual fans.

My father, who often had a radio contraption to catch another game's drama while at a live event, always bought a program and kept score (until I bought him his own baseball scorebook for baseball results).

He never taught me how to hunt deer, catch fish or do handiwork. However, I know what an earned-run is and which pitcher it gets charged to, and I knew it by the time I was 7-8 years old (adding frustration in later years, when even high school coaches could not do so when calling in box scores to the paper).

We each had our own pecking order -- the Flyers (the famed Broad Street Bullies) were atop my list and the Phillies atop his -- but all the teams' fortunes were important to each of us.

Basketball seemed to be the meeting point; a compromise of sorts.

He was one of the last players cut from his high school team, which went to win the city title, so I guess he saw his only son as a vehicle for vicarious hoop dreams.

And, with somewhat justifiable cause, as I showed decent early aptitude. While we would play catch sometimes with either a baseball or a football, shooting hoops together was most common when we weren't busy being fans.

And we weren't casual fans.

My father always bought a program and kept score. He never taught me how to hunt deer, fish or do handiwork. However, I know what an earned-run is and which pitcher it gets charged to, and I knew it by the time I was 7-8 years old (adding frustration when even high school coaches could not when calling in box scores). I knew that a player fouled out of game with 6 fouls in the NBA but 5 in college.

We were so into hoops that venturing into North Philly, after picking up hoagies, to watch the Baker and Sonny Hill leagues at Temple's McGonigle Hll was a summertime rite of passage.

My first trip to overnight camp came when I was 8 -- for a week in the Poconos at a place called Mr. Basketball Camp. He was thrilled to learn I came in second in the voting for a trophy (hustle) and that the range on my jumper had increased to the top of the arc.

His dreams of me being the next coming of Dolph Schayes (the kosher Larry Bird) were dashed when I pretty much stopped growing by 9th grade and was cut from the team, but we were still fans and took equal pleasure in the Sixers finally winning it all in 1983.

Man, have times changed.

My father passed away in 2008. By then, we rarely talked about basketball -- even after my career as a sports writer saw many hoops-related highlights (PW's state title run, covering the Sixers when Larry Brown and Allen Iverson were stuggling to co-exist and then Temple basketball when they were in the Top 10 most of the season).

It was Eagles, Eagles and more Eagles (I'm sorry he never got to see Temple's football program rise from the dead).

This year, between pro and college hoops, I don't think I watched a full game.

As for the finals between Dallas and Miami, my interest level -- or lack thereof -- is telling. When the pivotal game 5 was tied with a minute to go, I lost patience with the timeouts and commercials and changed the channel. I didn't even dial back, or check online, to see who won (as an afterthought, I asked the sports guys in the office a day or two later when I overheard them talking about what a fraud they thought LeBron James was).

Game 6 on Sunday? I had the time to watch (a rarity these days), but I couldn't even make it through the pre-game introductions -- during which there were three commercial breaks.

I'm writing this as they play. If Dallas wins, they win it all. If Miami wins, there will be a Game 7 that will pawned off as historic.

I don't even know when that is supposed to be played, assuming they need to play it.

I don't even care.

Not anymore.

Those days are gone.

But with Father's Day approaching, I'm thankful to my late father for -- at the very least -- helping to get it out of my system at an early age.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Gordo ... Dallas won.
I agree 100 percent, tho.

June 12, 2011 at 10:31 PM 
Anonymous The Budha said...

I also agree but I watched anyway. Glad Dallas won and glad it was over. The season is too long.

June 13, 2011 at 5:43 AM 

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