Our Last World Series

Well kind readers, here I am again, having to explain my hiatus. Many of you already know but for those who don’t, I lost my father to cancer just before Christmas. He fought his four-year battle with dignity, grace, strength and not a word of complaint. Daddy-o is highly responsible for my love of sports and for that I dedicate this blog to him.

On August 12, after multiple surgeries, two stints in radiation and a six-week long chemo session, we found out his cancer was back and this time it was terminal. My dad, defeated? It didn’t seem possible. But alas, that bastard opponent, cancer, didn’t play by the rules. I flew home September 1 and was able to spend three more months with my daddy, my hero.

Tim McGee was one of those athletes I envy. He was good at everything he tried. He picked up a basketball, tennis racket, pool cue, baseball mitt, golf club etc… and knew just what to do with it. Not only did my dad have amazing athletic ability, he had sports smarts, a quiet manner and a humble spirit. Three things that many people don’t realize make a truly amazing competitor.

When I decided I HAD to play basketball and that I wanted to be the best, he duct-taped my right hand behind my back while I played him in one on one. He coached my all boys and one girl “coach’s pitch” team. He let me use his high school wooden tennis racket (that he won a championship with) the first time he took me to a tennis court. He got me a “job” as the NMU ball girl and had a sweat suit with my name on the back made for me. He taught me to ski by holding his pole parallel to the ground while I held onto it for dear life; trying not to go ass over Mickey Mouse skis, when I was four-years-old. He was always by my side, guiding my way, in sports and in life.

My dad and I talked sports constantly. We were both so passionate about athletics that it was normal when 90 percent of our conversations were made up of sports stats, scores, trades, etc... The years I was away from home, my dad and I continued our debates via email, phone and text. More often than not we would pick the opposing team just to irk the other and stir the pot. It made things much more amusing. Our most heated rivalry was Michigan vs. Michigan State. (Me being the MSU fan.) He loved pushing my buttons and up until the last few years it was quite easy. It was only in recent years that I was able to get his goat about his crybaby coach, his quarterback who didn’t know how to tie his shoes, and his complete lack of a secondary.

In October, we watched our last World Series together. Our Tigers weren’t in it, and in true father-daughter fashion we decided to root for opposite teams and make things interesting. He went for the Rangers because he likes Nolan Ryan and I cheered for the Giants because I have a crush on Lincecum. We recorded game two on our DVR and watched it the next afternoon, just daddy and me.
My dad was a very popular guy, which meant our doorbell rang twenty times a day with people coming by to see him, but on this day he looked at me and said, “Is it just me and you here right now, kid?”

“Why yes Daddy, it is.” I responded with an inquisitive grin. “Good, go lock the door so we can watch this in peace, just the two of us,” he ordered without breaking his gaze from the television. I stood up and ran to that door and turned that lock faster than Barry Allen. (“The Flash” for you non-nerds.)

That afternoon was one of the best of my life. We talked about all the past years of watching the World Series together. The World Series where we were staying at a little cabin on the lake, the World Series where my little brother, Dylan, was going through his karate chopping phase and earned the nickname, Mr. Waaaaah, the World Series the first year I moved away from home and we talked on the phone before during and after every game. But we didn’t just talk about sports as we watched that game. We talked about life. His life. Stories of when he lived in California, stories of his years of rebellion, stories he’d never told me ever before; and even though each story was interrupted by a, “COME ON!” or a “SAFE! SAFE! SAFE!,” it was perfection. This is proof that sports can be so much more that just sports. They are a method of bonding, they teach strength and courage and connect gereations.

It needs to be mentioned that this year’s Super Bowl between the Green Bay Packers and the Pittsburgh Steelers was no fluke. Daddy-o planned that one all out. I mean, Aaron Rodgers’ quarterback rating isn’t really that high, that was thanks to Timmy McGee. What also needs to be revealed is that I happen to be a Pittsburgh Steelers fan. Good work, Timmy. That, right there was the “coup de grace” to our sports rivalry. I cheered for the Steelers through the whole game, screamed and yelled during their valiant comeback and at the end couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear when my Daddy’s Packers took home the Lombardi trophy. I don’t give up a win easily but I have to say, “well done Pops, you deserved it.”