I’m not really a big sports fan, but when the air is crisp and autumn leaves are flying, I admit I like to follow the World Series. Will it be the Yankees or the Phillies winning the series? I’m leaning towards the Yankees beating the tar out of the Phillies, just because I like their pitcher, Andy Pettite.

Watching a series game on TV stirs up all kinds of memories for me. When I was a kid, I played Little League baseball. I had a good arm, and spent several summers as the pitcher. I still remember the thrill of pitching a no-hitter, and getting a write up about it on the local sports page. That’s something I’ll never forget.

I remember going to opening day at the brand new Busch Stadium in St. Louis on May 12, 1966, with my dad. The Cards beat the Atlanta Braves 4 – 2 in 12 innings. Watching the Cardinals win that day, getting a bright red pennant, and enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of baseball was memorable. The best part of it though, was that it was just my dad and me. It was a special male bonding type of thing. As much as I loved them, it was nice NOT to have my older sisters around that day.

I didn’t realize I wouldn’t have many more times like that with Dad. He didn’t live too long after that. Now, years later, the crack of the bat connecting with the ball and the roar of the crowd still causes me to pause for just a moment to treasure that afternoon with my dad so long ago.