Why I Love Sports: A Family Affair

I know this will sound cliché and unoriginal, but my dad is the reason for my addiction to sports.

First grade was soccer and T-ball in the New Jersey suburbs with weekend trips to the Meadowlands to see the Devils play the Philadelphia Flyers.

Second grade was soccer, baseball, and basketball in the Arizona heat with weekend trips to see the New York Giants play the Cardinals at Sun Devil Stadium.

Third through sixth involved full year training on travel soccer teams and tickets to Diamondback games.

High school involved full contact football in the desert heat and a move to the east coast.

Sophomore year ran me through the muddy trails of upstate New York as a part of the track team.

In the background of all of these events was my father, someone who had also played sports for most of his adolescent life, telling me to work hard inside and outside of the classroom.

My father played sports from the cradle. From a family of eight, five boys and three girls, he and his brothers were involved in anything from the neighborhood pick-up baseball game to wrestling for his Catholic High School for three years. He ran on the indoor track team and even went to the Penn Relays.  Although my dad played sports, he was in no way gifted.

As one of five sons in the Ahern family, he was less inclined to sports than his brothers. While they easily made little league teams and Pop-Warner football, he had to work hard to stand out.  Later in life, this drive enabled him to get into the college of his choice and work hard in the business world.

He instilled that same work ethic in me, learning to take my hits in football and how to pace myself in a 1500. In elementary and middle school, my dad told me that I had to do a sport every season or learn a language, instead. I opted for sport.

I did rebel when I was 15, telling my father that I had been a fan of the AFC and the San Diego Chargers since their 1995 fight in the Superbowl, which broke his Giant heart, but we came to an understanding in our mutual hatred for the Cowboys.

Then I told him I liked the Cardinals in the NFC because of our years in AZ. He didn't take that well, but understood my decision to create my own path for seasonal letdowns, much like his love for the Giants in the 1970s and 80s

My father and I have bonded in ways that most parents only dream of with their kids. I still blaze my own trails when it comes to what I want to accomplish in my own life, but I can at least open a conversation about finances (or lack thereof) with my father by talking about football to, you know, get his wallet to loosen up.

In a world of change and constant cultural revolution, sports have helped to keep people together. My father is also the black to my white, a conservative since the Regan administration and devout Roman Catholic; my liberal leanings could only be masked by the above-mentioned hatred for Romo and the rest of the Dallas Cowboys. 

Sports bring people together and allow for great conversations to occur. I would have never known how much my dad loved watching baseball if it were not for how often we went to the Arizona Diamondbacks home games (when the tickets were cheap and the team horrible).

You get to see a different side of people that is often hidden, you see their immature and youthful side—you see how much in common you and your father have. And, more importantly, you see why you are the way you are.

And why I’m addicted to sports.