“font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 14px;”>It is truly amazing how sports can be the magical bond between a father and his son. Such was the case with me and my father, Earl Austin Sr., who passed away last Tuesday morning at the age of 69.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>The pain that I feel at this time is indescribable. However, the hurt is surpassed only by the sheer joy that I feel for having such a special bond with him, especially through sports. When it comes to having a special relationship with my father, I was not cheated and I have no regrets. He was my hero.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>As far as sports were concerned, we did it all together. When I was a child watching him play softball in the industrial leagues in Milwaukee, I was his biggest fan. When I grew up to play high school and college basketball, he was my biggest fan. He was my first basketball coach on the Alverno Elementary School team when I was in fifth grade. We shared countless nights in front of the television watching the Washington Bullets and my uncle Wes Unseld during his glory days while my mother was in the back room screaming her lungs out.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>When our playing days were done, we turned our attention to the careers of my sister Courtney, brother Richard and the athletic endeavors of his three grandsons here in town. Our talks at his kitchen table are part of family legend, and we had no problem picking up the phone in the middle of a game to discuss something great that had just happened. “Man, did you see that shot on the 15th by Tiger?” “Did you see that move by Jordan?” “Did you see that anchor leg by Carl Lewis?”
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>We both shared a love for Ohio State football, the fundamental perfection of the San Antonio Spurs, as well as a passion for track and field, especially when it came to the United States and the 4×400-meter relay. When Barack Obama was elected president, we stayed on the phone. We mixed movie lines from old films such as The
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“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>We had it like that. And it started early in my life.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>I can remember those days when I was three or four years old where we would sit at the kitchen table reading the sports section together. On Sundays, we would always predict the winners of the NFL games. Whenever he and his friends would get into those barbershop arguments about sports, they would call me, “Little Earl,” to settle those arguments.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>One of the stories that my mother always loved to tell was when I was about two years old and we were attending one of my dad’s softball games. He played first base for his Schlitz Brewery Company team. During one game, my mother turned away and saw that I had vacated the bleachers. She had no idea what had happened to me. Before she flew into a panic, one of the player’s wives told her to look on the field. There I was, standing on first base next to my father with my little glove, ready for action.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>I loved those days back in Milwaukee, following my father’s teams from park to park. Slow pitch softball in Milwaukee was as big as Major League Baseball. His days as a softball player and coach were an outgrowth of his intense love for baseball. If there was one regret in my life, it was I did not share my father’s passion for baseball. I fell in love with basketball, the sport that my uncles played.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>When we moved to Syracuse when I was 11 years old, I spent many days and nights at “The Courts,” a local playground near our house. On one fateful night, I left a brand new baseball glove that my father had bought me at the courts, never to be seen again. It was a symbol. I know part of him was heartbroken that I had not taken up baseball, but he never really let it show. Along with my mother, he was my biggest fan as I embarked on my basketball career at McCluer North High and Lindenwood University. He put all of his energy into making sure I became the best that I could be.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>As a coach and a father, he always knew the right thing to say to get us going on the right path. He was always calm, cool, laid-back and under control. That’s what made him such a great coach. I learned my old-school values from him. Always use the backboard, just hand the football to the referee after scoring a touchdown and run out every play to first base.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>When my sister Courtney was a senior at McCluer North, she considered quitting the basketball team because she wasn’t getting to play. My father had the magic words for her, and she stayed on the team. Courtney wound up making the game-winning shot in the 1986 state-championship game for her team.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>Earlier that day in the hotel room, my father told her that she must stay prepared because she was going to have an impact in the state-championship game. I thought he was crazy because Courtney was playing very little. His words were prophetic because we had three girls foul out in the fourth quarter and Courtney found herself in the game. In the final seconds, Courtney made the game-winning three-point play and blocked the potential game-tying shot at the buzzer to give McCluer North the win over Hickman Mills. It was amazing.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>My father’s patience and passion for baseball finally paid off in the form of my younger brother Richard. He loved baseball as much as my father. From the time Richard was nine years old until he entered high school, my father was the coach of his team, the Florissant Trojans. I was the scorekeeper of the Trojans. We had some great teams and some wonderful times. You had a father and his two sons sharing many great moments on and off the field. What could be better? Our bond only strengthened with Richard being the catalyst.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>Richard was able to take his baseball career to the professional level as he played several years in the independent minor leagues. Together, my father and I shared many hours and logged thousands of miles on the road going to Richard’s games around the country. Those times were priceless.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>One of my father’s proudest days came about a month ago when my brother was named the manager of the Frontier League’s Rockford Riverhawks at the age of 33. Not only did his youngest son share his love for baseball, but now he was going to follow in his footsteps as a coach and manager.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>We were looking forward to making the drive to Rockford to witness Richard’s managerial debut on May 20. Now, it is a journey that I will have to make by myself. Although my father will not be in the passenger’s seat for this four-and-a-half hour trip, I will carry with me a lifetime full of memories to last me the entire trip.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>God, I love that man and I miss him dearly. But everything I do and everything I am is because of him. People remind me all the time that I remind them of my father.
“font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Verdana;”>That is the greatest compliment of all.
