My son turned ten just the other day
He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on lets play
can you teach me to throw?" I said, "Not today,
I got a lot to do" He said, "That’s okay"
And he walked away but his smile never dimmed
And said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah,
You know I'm going to be like him"

Cats in the Cradle
Cat Stevens

Weary from another late-night Red Sox playoff win and consciously trying to temper my own excitement over the Game 5 victory, I received an excited call from my Dad at work Friday morning.

Like most of New England, Dad went to bed around the seventh inning Thursday night figuring the baseball season was about to end for our beloved Red Sox. With the Sox down 7-0 to the Rays, Dad had no reason to think otherwise.

I could barely say hello before Dad was exuberantly asking me to confirm that the Sox had managed to come back and win the game. I assured him it was true and instantly Dad was happy. Before we hung up, Dad was already talking about watching Game 6 on Saturday night. It didn’t matter to Dad that the Sox still faced an uphill battle to win the ALCS. From his perspective, all was right in the world.

Dad wasn’t always a baseball fan and actually had little interest in sports before I got into baseball and the Red Sox in 1985. A little more than a year later, we sat in the living room watching Game 5 of the ’86 ALCS against the Angels feeling totally dejected as the Sox stood one strike away from playoff elimination.

Then our emotions erupted like lava from a dormant volcano. As Dave Henderson’s home run sailed over the left field fence, we jumped wildly and shouted hysterically. Together we celebrated that there was more baseball yet to play and that this just might be the year.

Growing up, Dad and I played catch countless times in the street in front of the house. I always used to ask Dad to throw the ball away from me so that I could try to make a running catch. He always did.

More recently, our baseball bond has been maintained and strengthened mostly via phone. Within minutes of the final out being recorded in any big Sox win or clinching victory the past several years, my phone has usually rung and Dad’s been on the other end. With the effusive excitement of a kid tearing open their presents on Christmas morning, Dad always wants to talk about Ortiz’ clutch homer, another multi-hit game by Pedroia or Ellsbury's brilliant defense.

Recently, Dad had a pretty big health scare. Although he’s not completely out of the woods yet, things are looking good. News like this puts things in perspective pretty quickly and relegates just about everything else, even the Red Sox, to the bottom of the priority list.

As I sit here on Sunday morning, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Game 7, I’m hoping that the Sox are able to complete the comeback and advance to the World Series for the third time in five years. Because if they’re successful, I know I can look forward to another late-night phone call from Dad, whose only concern will be the Sox’ chances against the Phillies. And what’s more fun than talking baseball with Dad?

This column was written on October 19, 2008.