Yesterday, I was telling my 8-year-old son about the best year in Phillies history - 1980! We went over the disappointment of the 1976, 1977 and 1978 campaigns and the collapse of the 1979 season. We talked about the greats - Mike Schmidt (or as Harry Kalas intoned: Michael Jack Schmidt!), Steve Carlton, Larry Bowa, Greg Luzinski, Tug McGraw, and Pete Rose.
He took in the idea that a left-handed thrower is called a southpaw.
He laughed at the great Garry Maddox description: "71 percent of the Earth is covered by water... the rest is covered by Garry Maddox."
He loved to hear about "Bake" McBride, whose real name I couldn't remember (Arnold Ray).
I told him about Pete Rose's arrival and how he was the catalyst that pushed the Phils over the top and brought home that elusive and cherished World Series title.
He wanted to hear more, but it was time to go to bed. When I asked him about it this morning, who was the first player he remembered? Pete Rose. Good boy.
It's heartbreaking sometimes to be a Phillies fan, but I am too far gone. But baseball is a great sport and I look forward to my sons embracing the Phillies the way that I did. I came along at the right time. I was 11 when they won in 1980. I sincerely hope that I can watch the Phillies win a World Series with him as I did with my father. Before his 11th birthday.