A great day for a ballgame…

In the course of six days, Faith has “enjoyed” a high school football game and a minor league baseball game (only the best for my little girl). If you haven’t heard me say this yet, you haven’t been within 100 yards of me: I’m lucky to have a great little girl. I’ve always considered myself to be lucky for a multitude of reasons; but the fact that I can impose my love of sporting events (no matter the level) onto my unsuspecting nine-week-old child, without even a complaint, is completely gratifying.

How good is Faith you ask? Well, she knew when to cry/fuss during the TJ v. AL game. She cried when they scored, and was pretty content and happy when we scored. We left at halftime (for those of you not around here, TJ lost by a lot). During the I-Cubs game, she was very content except for when the O-Royals decided to score (I-Cubs won).

Faith even got to see her dad right after he acted like a 10-year-old girl at a Jonas Brothers concert (I know the name because I’m a 9th grade teacher). No, the Disney concocted boy band wasn’t at the game. But my all-time baseball idol (the now Manager of the I-Cubs) was signing autographs before the ballgame. I got there early in hopes of snagging an autograph. When I was in line, the first 40 minutes went slow, and I thought all hope was lost. Then Ryne Sandberg came out and started signing. When I finally made it to him, I was shaking. For what felt like a solid ten minutes, I managed to muck up what I was saying three times, hold the jersey sideways (to which he said, “unless you want a crooked autograph, I’d move that”), and drop my gold marker/pen onto his pants and onto the field dirt. At that point (again, picture tween at a Miley Cyrus concert minus the sobbing) I said, “Don’t worry about the pen, I’m good.” God, I’m a dork. He grabbed the pen and said something along the lines of “Enjoy the game,” and I went to my seat.

I showed my daughter my new treasures and she seemed none-the-wiser. I was even able to not have her pee or poop on it before we got home (I was actually more worried about that than me spilling my burger or beer on it). Father of the Year right here.

Anyway, the point of the post is that I’m gradually introducing my daughter to my fan-dom of all that is sport. Maybe someday, she’ll read this and realize that yes, in fact, her dad was a dork way before she was able to recognize it. And to shove that nail just a little more in, here is a quick (:30) video of Faith rocking out.

~Rob