The Tribe that unites

Here's an award winning essay written by Rob Supan about his dad, his kids, and the Indians. Good reading even if the Indians are not on a winning warpath this year. This is one of the reasons I love baseball.

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I can’t honestly say I recall my first professional baseball game. I know it would have been at old Municipal Stadium, I’m pretty sure it was in ’79, and I can say with a fair amount of certainty, that we lost.

But while I don’t remember my first baseball game, I can say without hesitation that I remember becoming a baseball fan.

It was a night game by the lake, I was nine and my dad and I occupied a vast expanse of empty seats down the third base line, a satchel of peanuts, a group of kids posturing for a fight a section over but clearly lacking the nerve to throw punches, and Andre Thornton crushing a home run to bring us all to our feet. He and Rick Manning were my favorites, Dre for his power and Rick because of his hair.

That night on our way to our car, my Dad bought me a tribe pennant. The proud grin of Chief Wahoo trimmed in red and blue with the old seventies style Indians type rode home with me that night. His ever-present smile adorned my bedroom wall throughout the next several decades, marking the night I fell in love with baseball.

He’s watched as I grew, discovered girls, learned to drive, and completed high school. He saw my father and I evolve from father/son to adversaries to best friends. He was the uniting factor in those times when I’d be home from college and Dad and I struggled to be in same room together, but could always declare a nine inning truce in the right field seats at the Jake.

That pennant now occupies the wall of my sons’ room. My oldest boy is nine now. He’s one of four sons and three older sisters. He’s the same age I was when my passion was ignited, and I love that he and his brothers have been Tribe fans for years now.

Their fandom looks different than mine. It shows up on their wii and mp3 player, their baseball knowledge fed by unlimited amount of stats and figures on the family computer. But nothing replaces a game of catch in the yard pretending to be Grady pulling one back over the centerfield wall to put the tribe in the playoffs.

I love knowing that as I watch them go through seasons in their own life that we can look forward to building memories like I did with my Dad. I’m comforted that when things get rough, we’ll be able to talk balls and strikes and make everything OK again.

With seven children, it’s a luxury to get the whole family to the ballpark. On a non-profit's salary it's a financial stretch, but nothing can take the place of sitting in the stands. It’s awesome. It’s special.

Their Granddad started something thirty years ago. His son passed it down. And today, from the corner of his grandchildren’s bedroom, Chief Wahoo continues to smile.