What’s there left to say about this year’s World Series?
Plenty, if you pay attention to sports radio and TV.
I woke up this (Friday) morning to find baseball commentators still marveling about Boston’s David Ortiz.
Ortiz is being celebrated for leading the Red Sox to the World Series title. But while he has become the face of this year’s championship team, the series is going to be remembered for a few other things as well.
First, there were the head scratching plays. Among them, the obstruction call that handed the St. Louis Cardinals the win in Game 3 and the pick-off by Boston closer Koji Uehara that ended Game 4 with a Red Sox victory.
There was also the historic aspect. Boston gave its fans their third World Series crown in ten years and the first capped at Fenway Park since 1918.
And not for nothing, the Red Sox won the title six months after the horror of the Boston Marathon bombing.
I could tick off more reasons why this year’s series was special. There are plenty of them. On a personal level, though, it’s going down as the one in which I realized that my son and I were relating to each other differently, as something other than parent and child.
If you’re getting the feeling that this is turning out to be another dopey post about the power of baseball to bridge generations, that’s because it is.
Feel free to click away.
Before you start rolling your eyes.
But if you insist on sticking around, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
To be honest, I’m not a huge sports fan. I just don’t have the head for it. Keeping track of all the players and their teams seems like too much work. I have enough trouble keeping the neighborhood kids straight.
But I’ve always been partial to baseball. So when my 15-year-old son informed me last March that he wanted to start following the game, I bought him a Washington Nationals cap and began taking him to the ballpark.
That’s because his newfound interest marked a significant departure. Up to then, my son had shown about as interest in sports as he does to getting along with his younger sister.
Of course, we found ourselves at Nationals Park a few times. I also drove him across the border into Maryland to take in a Hagerstown Suns game. We even made the long trip to Woodbridge, Virginia to see the Nationals young star Bryce Harper play in a rehab game with the minor league Potomac Nationals. It was a rare chance to see Harper up close.
The season came to an end Wednesday night when Boston’s Uehara retired the last three Cardinals batters and then jumped into his catcher’s arms with his finger pointed in the air.
But while Fenway rocked with joy, it was a deflating moment for me.
It’s not that I had a dog in the hunt. I just wanted the series to stretch into a Game 7, if only to give my son and me another contest to look forward to.
Oh, well. We’re not that far away from spring training.
And when players and fans begin gathering again at ballparks around the country, I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist coming up with another “father, son and the power of baseball” post.
You’ve been warned.