Some of my most vivid memories of growing up are of my dad and me making our way through the world of sports together. Some memories come from riding on his shoulders into the Boston Garden (so that he didn’t have to pay for two tickets) and taking our seat (just one for the two of us of course) in the profane, smoke-filled balcony (where I ingested the most secondhand smoke of my life) to watch Larry Legend, McHale, The Chief and the rest of those 1980s Celtic teams dominate the opposition year in and year out. Others are of the many moments of winning and losing on the courts and pitches of Acton, Massachusetts with my dad as my coach, guru, and confidant. Today, sports remain one of the strongest bonds of connection between my dad, my brother, and me.
So far, my experience as a dad seems a little different. I have two wonderful daughters, which means I am surrounded by more princesses and fairies than I can fathom. Reading a good book trumps going out and playing catch most days. And, my attempts to instill a love of the Red Sox and Patriots instead of the Rockies and Broncos haven’t really panned out (yet…I’m not a quitter).
However, with a little perspective I realize that things aren’t so different. I had far more Star Wars figurines than my daughters have princesses. And, from those early Celtics games, I mostly remember the giant scoreboard that looked like it was ready to fall onto the court and the organ player who goaded the crowd into cool cheers ("De-Fense" - brilliant). More than a real appreciation for the sporting event, it was about time spent with my dad – not insignificantly – one-on-one between he and me, without my brother. Creating an obsessive love of sports isn’t easy. It’s a process, and you have to put in your time.
And so, it was with great personal excitement that I took my eldest daughter, Sloan, to see Manchester United take on AS Roma in Denver with the rest of The18 team in Denver this Saturday. My mission: make it fun, no matter the personal toll. I like to think things got off to a strong start during the tailgate - I got her set up with a comfy chair, a lemon soda, and, most importantly, two cookies. Boom – positive momentum generated. We then waited for the corn hole game to clear out before tossing a few bags to pass the time until kickoff. As I helped clean up The18’s spread, I was heartened to hear her insisting, “Can we go in yet?” Heck yes!
Feeling The Heat
A slow jog (for me) and real run (for her) across the parking lot in the over-90-degree weather left her flushed and me dripping with sweat. As we took our primo seats, one of The18 crew said, “it’s an oven here” and the Colorado sun was, as usual, unrelenting. This was a big time “Dad danger zone.” Cold water over her head? Yep. Frantic waving of the trusty The18 hat to try and generate a little bit of breeze? Check. She was still all smiles, although I could tell she was feeling the heat. We were 20+ minutes in without score, there were none of the songs or intensity that comes from a “home” crowd, and a six-and-a-half-year-old is not one to appreciate the slow buildups of the beautiful game. I needed some action.
Rooney to the Rescue
Now, I’m not a big fan of Wayne Rooney, but he saved my bacon in that first half. First was a premier strike from the top of the box that bent into the far corner of the goal that was right in front of our seats. A big roar from the crowd. I leapt to my feet and picked her up in the air so that she could see above the fray in front of us. High-five. We stomped our feet with the crowd and talked about how we can feel the floor vibrate underneath them. Big smiles.
Moments later Rooney steps up to take a penalty kick - giving me a brief chance do a little education on the game, "see that spot on the ground..." - and delivers. Another explosion from the crowd - more smiles. As we bake in the sun, she wonders why Wayne chose long sleeves for the game. I ponder discussing the fragile skin of pasty Englishmen, but think better of it. “I’m like a melting popsicle. He must feel like he’s in an oven.”
The big smiles are all mine now.
Another ManU goal before the half and we’ve made it through in great shape. We escape to the concourse, backs against concrete to cool off during the break. We survive a trip to a stadium men’s room without incident. We walk around looking for cold water and fail, although I do find a cold beverage of another variety. C’mon, Dad, that’s not going to cut it. We finally find a vendor - bottle of water, handful of ice cubes – and we’re back in business.
Yet Another Reason to Love Guinness
The second half stays entertaining as Roma claws its way back with two goals (the first one ridiculous – see below), both at our end of the field - giving us chances to jump and stomp once again. (5 goals for the game, all scored at our end of the field – the sports gods must have been smiling on me).
After the ice cubes melted, I had either my finest or most shameful parenting idea (depending on your perspective), as I used my can of Guinness to cool the back of my daughter’s neck. Smooth. Then I’m pretty sure that she wanted to smack me after I asked for the hundredth time if she was having fun. Yes, dad, give it a rest.
After the game we made our way back to the The18 tailgate to wait for traffic to clear out. She and I kicked the Brazuca around for a bit and then I went over to talk about the game with some folks. She entertained herself as only someone that age can - by making laps around the grassy area we had claimed as home for the afternoon. I checked the match stats and found that she covered more ground than any of the ManU or Roma players. I also noticed that every other lap included a stop to grab a fresh handful of potato chips out of a huge bowl - start with cookies, end with potato chips, that’s a good way to win a kid over, don’t you think?
When we got picked up a little while later by my wife and other daughter, she told my wife that the game was “Great!” and my heart got all warm and fuzzy (and no, that wasn’t the Guinness’ work). That night, as I was putting her to bed, I asked what her favorite part of the game was, my daughter replied, “When the goals were scored. That was really exciting!” Not the cookies or thousands of chips, but something from the game itself. That’s a far more encouraging answer for a sports-loving father than my own, “I liked looking at the scoreboard” that I gave my dad too many years ago. Oh yes, it’s on, princesses - the soccer balls and baseball gloves are coming for you.
