Hardtbreaking

I have been beyond lucky to attend pretty much every sporting event I could've ever hoped for.

Ok, I have not been to Wimbledon.

Or the Kentucky Derby.

Or the Masters.

But aside from that I am good.

Very good, thanks.

Olympics.

Super Bowls.

World Series.

All-Star Games.

Been there.

Done that.

And I would gladly do that again.

More than anything, the thing I love about sports is that fact that you never know.

And to see it in person.

There is nothing like it.

I’ve been asked several times to name THE favorite event I’ve been to as a spectator.

And that’s not an easy question.

But for me it is a pretty easy answer.

It’s the Daytona 500.

Actually, the 1998 Daytona 500.

To be exact.

Now I didn’t grow up a big racing fan.

Not a racing fan at all.

Sure I knew who Richard Petty was.

And I went to college with a great guy named Jeff Gordon.

Not the racer.

And I always thought Lake Speed was a cool name for a driver.

But in 1995, when I was assigned to cover motor sports, full-time, I knew pretty much nothing about cars.

After all, I’m a Jewish guy from LA.

Who can’t change his own oil.

But since that’s what my boss wanted me to do.

Dag-gummit, that’s what I’m going to do.

I’m good like dat.

Seven years later, I was still covering NASCAR.

And loving it.

Really.

By that point, I had been to about 20 tracks around the country.

Darlington to Dover.

Rockingham to Talladega.

Of course, I didn’t tell them I was Jewish.

Duh.

But getting back to the Daytona 500.

In 1996, I attended the event for the first time.

With about 200,000 others.

That’s nearly five times the population of Kannapolis, North Carolina.

I went back again the next year.

Actually the next five years.

But 1998 was something special.

It was the 50th season of NASCAR.

The 40th Daytona 500.

And the 20th attempt by The Great Dale Earnhardt to win The Great American Race.

The Kannapolis native entered that year 0-for-19.

Now Dale Earnhardt was no ordinary race car driver.

He was “The Intimidator.”

He could see the air move around him.

Or so they said.

By 1998, he had seven NASCAR Championships.

Tied for the most with Petty, “The King.”

But unlike “The King”, who had seven Daytona 500 victories.

“The Intimidator” had never won the sport’s biggest race.

Sure Earnhardt had enjoyed plenty of success in Daytona.

With an amazing 30 wins on that track.

But exactly none of them came in the Daytona 500.

NASCAR’s Super Bowl.

So when Earnhardt, driving his #3 car, crossed the finish line before anyone in 1998, it was a big deal.

A big deal for him.

And his team.

And his millions of fans.

And the millions of racing fans who couldn’t stand him.

But most of all, it was a big deal for the sport.

And as he drove down pit road, heading towards victory lane for the first time as a Daytona 500 champ, he was greeted.

Greeted by the fans who loved him.

Greeted by the fans who hated him.

And greeted by every single member of every single pit crew.

That’s something that just doesn’t happen.

The people, who had been trying to intimidate the Intimidator, were paying their respects.

To a man who had changed their sport.

And their life.

Now I’ve always loved the exchange of handshakes at the end of a hockey playoff series.

But even that has become a little cliche.

And somewhat forced.

But in 1998, when hundreds of men, representing 43 teams, created a human red carpet.

For a man they had always battled.

And sometimes didn’t like.

It was really special.

And really unexpected.

It’s why we watch sports.

And to be standing on that asphalt road, as it was happening, was a moment I will never forget.

As I will never forget being on that same asphalt road exactly three years and three days later.

The 2001 Daytona 500.

That is a race nobody in NASCAR will ever forget.

That is the day the music died.

The day Dale Earnhardt died.

It happened on the last turn of the last lap of what turned out to be his last race.

Everyone watching knew right away that it was bad.

But it wasn’t until a couple of hours later that we knew how bad.

Plenty of people tried to sum it up by saying that the man died doing what he loved.

And maybe that’s true.

But for me, the bottom line is that the man had died.

It was an event I will never forget.

The same track.

The same race.

Two completely different results.

I guess that’s why we watch sports.

You never know.

Rocking The Cradle

It’s too bad the college bowl season is coming to an end.

There have been some great games.

And I have enjoyed them all.

From my couch.

With the fridge right behind me.

And the remote right in front of me.

And my son right beside me.

There is no better seat.

We watched a game a few nights ago that went right down to the wire.

A great finish.

In fact, my friend was working on the broadcast.

No surprise, he does a couple hundred games a year.

He does local games.

Regional games.

National games.

His career is everything he ever could’ve hoped for.

And more.

Baseball games.

Football games.

And hockey.   

And basketball.

He’s on the road more than Willie Nelson.

I’m sure his family is very proud.

And very rich.

His kids look so happy every year when I get their Christmas card.

I am truly thrilled for his career.

I too had my share of success in the biz.

But not at his level.

And I too have done my share of traveling.

But not at his level.

And if I took the time to do a Christmas card, my kids would probably look pretty happy too.

But I would be the one taking the picture.

Not Sears.

For most of my working life I dedicated 12-14 hours out of every work day to my work.

I guess that’s why they call it a work day.

And on the days I wasn’t working, I was always on call.

Or more accurately, on A call.

Even when I was off, I was always on.

Thankfully, unemployment has corrected all that.

And given me all of the quality family time that any father could ask for.

But it wasn’t always that way.

I can remember standing in a supermarket aisle one night, late at night, picking up just a few things for the family.

After a full day at work.

When one of the best songs ever came on the loud speaker.

Cats in the Cradle.   By Harry Chapin.

I had heard the song a million times before, but this time I decided to listen.

It was a handful of seconds in when I was driven to tears.

I’m not sure which verse it was.

But it really didn’t matter.

Just pick one.

My child arrived just the other day He came to the world in the usual way But there were planes to catch and bills to pay He learned to walk while I was away

Pretty much every line in that damn song is destined to make a grown working man cry.

My son turned ten just the other day He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let's play Can you teach me to throw", I said "Not today I got a lot to do", he said, "That's ok".

I’m not sure why I needed a song to kick me in the pants, but it did.

Well, he came home from college just the other day So much like a man I just had to say "Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?" He shook his head and said with a smile "What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys See you later, can I have them please?"

And that trip to the supermarket was probably ten years ago.

Honestly, I don’t think I was able to listen to that song again since then.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, the entire family was in the car, driving around, looking for our new home.

When the song came on.

I knew it when I heard the first note.

But instead of turning it off.

I turned it up.

After being at home for most of the last two years, I was finally ready to listen again.

After the first verse, my 11-year old son said, “this song is funny.”

“Hilarious,” I mumbled.

About a minute later.

He changed his tune.

“This song is depressing.”

Then at the end, he changed again.

“I like this song.”

That’s when I informed him and everyone else in the car that Cats in the Cradle is the worst song I’ve ever heard.

“You don’t like it?,” he said.

“I love it.”

“It’s just the worst song ever.”

For the next few minutes, we talked about the song and how fortunate I feel to be at home.

With my family.

Even if it wasn’t what I had planned.

Many people think that working in TV is the greatest job that anybody could have.

And on many levels it might be.

But it doesn't come close to what I now experience every day as a stay-at-home dad.

And I wouldn't trade it with anybody.

Not even my friend.

Who is probably at another great game tonight.

Without his family.

What has happened to me the last few years has taught me everything I need to know.

About real life.

I  hope my son grows up just like me.