Life, Sports, and the Pursuit of Happiness

By Michael Graziano

I will always remember Super Bowl XXXV (35). You remember that game, don’t you? The Kerry Collins-led Giants faced off against the vaunted Ravens defense. There were back-to-back kick return touchdowns. As a Giants fan, one could say it was a tough loss. However, that game will always be a great memory. I remember the excitement building up to the game. I remember taking a family picture with all of us in different Giants apparel (the picture is still on my mantel to this day). I remember going to my best friend’s house around the corner and wondering what it would be like if the Giants won with all these people cheering for the same team. I still know the routes I ran that day in the street with my best friend as our dads threw us passes. I remember sitting at the foot of the couch and hearing my dad question every play call that was made that day (he swore he was a better coach than Jim Fassel; I would agree).

These are the memories that I cherish. Yes, the Giants lost, but that’s not what I think about first. I think about the amazing day I had watching the final football game I would ever watch with my father.

My dad passed away that February and I miss him every day. There are many things that he did that have stuck with me throughout my life. Whether it is his humor that still comes out through me or his love that seemed to be endless, I always know he is with me and my family as our lives carry on without him. But this article isn’t about my personal feelings or how I deal with this loss. This is a celebration about the greatest thing I learned from him…our endless love of sports.

For his birthday tomorrow, I want to honor him the only way I know how: talking about sports. Fathers and sports have always been connected. The media bombards you with the cliché of fathers and sons playing catch and learning the love of the game from your father. Unfortunately for you, the reader, here comes another one of those stories.

My dad started my love of sports. He taught me how to throw a spiral and how to throw his unhittable Wiffleball curveball (I swear it’s better than Kershaw’s). He explained why the Red Sox were evil and how the Cowboys are the worst organization on the planet. He told me to be proud of the Yankees buying championships and that the Giants have never won an easy game (they always make it tough).

Sports always provided an outlet to our everyday lives and was something that truly connected me to my father. You know how that feels. Most of you reading this learned how to be a sports fan from your father and his father before that. You carry on your fanhood as a badge of honor that can bring a family closer together. Whether it’s stories from your team’s past or players’ legacies that stretch across decades, my father taught me how to be a true sports fan. I learned three rules of how to be a great fan from him:

• Know your team history,
• Be a passionate supporter, and
• Never EVER give up hope

I may be biased, but this is how I think every true sports fan should act. For me, my father and I watched old Giants’ Super Bowl videos. He taught me how to impress adults with my knowledge of players like Mark Bavaro, Joe Morris, and Phil McConkey. I definitely know my history. I haven’t missed a Giants game in years. I have worn Yankees stuff for every baseball postseason game this year (the Yankees weren’t even in the playoffs). I think I’m passionate enough. Lastly, I will never give up hope. I will never hop on another bandwagon even when things look bleak. I am a fan for life thanks to my father. I think I passed his third test.

Okay, I talked a lot about myself in the past paragraph. We all know I am a fan because of him. You must be asking yourself, “Why is this angry New York fan telling me this?” It is because I learned more from those fanhood lessons than just how to be a good fan.

At twenty-one years old, I realized that those three lessons are the ways that each of us should be living our entire lives. Imagine a life where you understand the importance of history, live passionately as your strive for your dreams, and never give up hope. Can you picture that? That is the type of life that my father wanted me to live. He wanted me to be the best person I could be and I owe him for teaching me that. Sports were just a metaphor for how I (heck, everyone) should be living my life here on Earth. That is why I am telling you my story. He taught me how to live even when he wasn’t here. I think of these ideas every time I feel like the world is closing in on me. I needed a way to show the world what he has done for me and I hope you can live in the same way.

I miss him dearly every birthday that comes. November is just a difficult month for my whole family. But we always make it through because we know how to live and love. My mom is the strongest woman I have ever met and she still holds on tight to the way my father lived every day. I feel like I do the same thing. I am just fascinated that something as ridiculous as sports was used to teach me how to be a better man.

There is never a time when I am playing or watching sports that I don’t think about my Dad. I play in honor of him because he never got to see me play an organized sport. I just hope he is looking down on me and is more proud of the man I am than the athlete I try to be.