Blog Layout
Me, My Dad & The Pirates
Yinzer Crazy • March 17, 2021
Story by Yinzer Crazy Pirates Contributor David Stegon - Above is his dad, Robert Stegon, right, with Pirates’ legend Bill Mazeroski.
One night, unable to sleep, I went down to the basement and pulled out a box filled with baseball memorabilia that my Aunt Dorothy had collected and given to me before she died in 2006.
I was flipping through some old game programs from the 1970s when a typed brown letter slipped out and fell on the table like something out of a movie. The letter, dated September 22, 1947, was nothing exciting – no long-lost treasure map or mysterious family secrets – but instead was my aunt writing a letter to her brother, my Uncle Andrew, as she passed time at her job as an executive secretary at the Westinghouse Electrical Plant in East Pittsburgh.
Following a recap of some mundane neighborhood news, my aunt – then in her early 20s – wrote about a recent trip to Forbes Field where she used my dad, Robert, a few days short of his fourth birthday, as bait to get a ball and some autographs from both the visiting Philadelphia Phillies and the Pirates, in particular, star left fielder Ralph Kiner.
The ploy worked as my aunt used my dad to gain Kiner’s attention during batting practice, getting him to come over to a fence out in left field and talk for a few minutes. My dad got the ball and a signature, while my aunt sadly did not get the marriage proposal that I believe she truly wanted.
The letter itself is nothing amazing, but to me it meant everything.
The basement I mentioned above was in my parent’s house, not mine. While I live just 20 minutes from their house, it had been more than a year since I visited, fearful that I would inadvertently bring them COVID-19. This was especially hard as my dad continued a long battle with lung cancer that has slowly taken life from him.
When he was first diagnosed everything carried on as normal. And then he started coughing, sometimes uncontrollably. When that issue was fixed, he suddenly found himself constantly short of breath – a short walk across a parking lot causing him to lose his breath as if he had just sprinted the length of a football field.
The worst came this past summer when his constant struggle for oxygen led to a heart attack, sending him immediately to a hospital in the middle of the pandemic. No one could visit, not even my mom. I was limited to phone calls between treatments, riding a rollercoaster of information from doctors and managing my dad’s psyche.
When things got bad, I, of course, turned to baseball.
“David, I think this is it,” I remember my dad saying one afternoon, fearful he would pass away in a cold hospital away from family members. “No, it’s not,” I said. “Listen, I know it doesn’t look good. It’s the bottom of the ninth and we’re down a run, but we got the middle of the lineup coming up so let’s get some runners on and make something happen.”
It took almost two weeks, but he was able to leave the hospital and return home. He was stuck in bed for months, even starting hospice care, but was determined to regain the strength to walk. While watching Pirates games, he would do breathing exercises at the end of every half inning – getting in 18 reps throughout a game. By the end of the season, he could walk again.
Life carried on until a few weeks ago when I got the call I had been dreading. My dad’s condition had worsened, and my 73-year-old mom could no longer care for him by herself. I had to come.
I moved into my old childhood bedroom, bringing my dog for emotional support. I helped with household chores and tried to keep my dad in an upbeat mood. For a few days, everything seemed fine. We watched 61*, the 2001 HBO movie about the 1961 home run chase between Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle, and while he showed signs of decline, he also had moments of hope, sharing stories from his youth and, of course, the Pirates.
That all would be short-lived. In just a few days, his strength sharply declined to the point he could no longer leave his bed. He began throwing up almost constantly. We called the doctor, who prescribed morphine. From there it was only a matter of time as he fell in and out of consciousness and stopped eating and drinking.
Late last Monday night I sat beside his bed and turned on a video of Game 7 of the 1971 World Series hoping it would bring a smile. If nothing else, I hoped the sounds of the ball game would bring him peace in his final hours. I sat and watched, drinking way too much before falling asleep just after 4 a.m. My mom woke me up a few hours later to let me know he had passed.
My aunts and my grandfather started attending Pirates games after the end of World War II and my dad – nearly 20 years younger than his sisters – joined as soon as he was old enough, even taking a bus and sitting in the bleachers (for a quarter!) when the family seats were occupied.
When it was time, my dad and my aunts passed their Pirates fandom down to me. Born in 1981, I was just old enough to truly remember the division-winning teams of the early 1990s with my dad taking me out of school to attend the 1992 National League Championship Series. I grew up in Virginia, a 5-hour drive that included too much time on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, so attending games involved a multi-day commitment.
That series – even though the Pirates lost in crushing defeat – helped solidify my already growing fandom. I loved baseball, the Pirates were good, and I was ready to join the family obsession. After all, the only two pictures hanging in my family’s Pittsburgh dining room were of Roberto Clemente and Jesus Christ, so going any other direction was simply not an option.
Like all Pirates fans, we weathered the 20 consecutive losing seasons the best we could: going to games in-person when we could, following along with transactions, and overly celebrating even the smallest victories. When the team started to show life during the 2011 season – the Pirates were frisky for most of the season before fading hard in August and September – we were more than ready.
Many still look at that coming era of Pirates baseball as a disappointment. Some great moments and wonderful teams, but no post-season success. I think about it differently. During that time, especially during the three wildcard seasons, my Dad and I got to relish in the daily thrill of truly competitive baseball – him watching from his home on the Extra Innings package, while I was on my computer in my home on MLB.TV.
I tended to watch the games in real-time, although not always. My dad always started watching the games a little late so he could zoom through the commercials on his DVR. When something big happened we would call each other, usually me letting him know of a big comeback or the closing out of another game.
It got to the point where my wife would just roll her eyes and jokingly yell, “SOMEONE GOT A HIT. GOTTA CALL!”
Our ritual usually led to conversations like this:
ME: What inning are you in?
HIM: Top 4. Did something happen? Where are you?
ME: I’m bottom 6. Yeah, something happened. Do you want to know?
HIM: Is it good or bad? Oh, just tell me.
ME: Neil doubled in Jordy and Starling – we’re now up 6-5!
There would also be another call at the end of the game with the phone ringing within a few seconds of the final out. “HOW GOOD WAS THAT?!” my dad would yell as Jason Grilli or Mark Melancon closed out another one, sometimes adding, “I’M WORN OUT LIKE A WET DISH RAG!” if it was an especially tense game.
It is those moments that I’ll remember, and am already missing, the most.
Even during the off-season, I would call him late at night as I walked my dog. With my kids asleep, we would talk for about an hour as my dog and I went on our normal loop, carrying on conversations that continued until I moved back into his home to help. Discussions ranged from everything from work and family to the news of the day, and almost always some kind of talk about the Pirates and baseball.
As an old co-worker of mine once said, our daily talks about baseball were our way of saying, “I love you.” He wasn’t wrong.
Along with that letter I mentioned earlier, I also found a family picture I had never seen before. It shows my dad as a teenager, watching a game at Forbes Field with my Aunt Dorothy and Aunt Marie, all three looking strikingly younger than I grew up knowing them. The picture is not dated, but I assume it was taken in the late 1950s or early 1960s and shows a sunny afternoon at the ballpark, complete with the clothing and hairstyles of the time.
The Pirates for me go beyond just a baseball team but represent family as well as fam-a-lee. Like everyone else I yearn for a World Series-winning team and a parade down Federal Street, but until that happens, I cherish the simple and stupid moments.
On the day my daughter was born, the Pirates played the Washington Nationals. My daughter was born just before 7 p.m. and my dad, being my dad, quietly pulled me aside as other relatives looked at their new family member, to give me an update: “We won 3-1. A.J. pitched great and Andrew hit a home run.”
My Pirates roots run deep, and I hope someday to share the same passion with my kids as I shared with my dad. No matter what happens the Pirates will always be the family team. Finding that letter and that picture helped bring that home for me.
Even as my dad laid in bed during his final hours, I spent time with him talking about how much our calls and these moments meant to me. They served as the glue for a larger and deeper relationship that cannot be replaced.
The day before he passed, in what was one of his last moments of consciousness, I turned the conversation to baseball to find comfort. I told him the manager was coming to the mound and it was time to take him out of the game. We were going to let the bullpen close this one out. My only ask was that when he got to where he was going next, he’d save me a good seat next to him on the third baseline.
You might also like
Yinzer Crazy
Story by Yinzer Crazy Contributor Harv Aronson. Contact Harv @ Totalsportsrecall@gmail.com
Story by Yinzer Crazy Contributor Harv Aronson. Contact Harv @ Totalsportsrecall@gmail.com
Story by Yinzer Crazy Contributor Harv Aronson. Contact Harv @ Totalsportsrecall@gmail.com
Book a Service Today
Yinzer Crazy
24/7 Yinzer Sports Coverage
Location
Your Fan Cave,Pittsburgh, PA
Email
Yinzercrazyshow@gmail.com
Follow us on Social Media! YouTube: YinzerCrazy
Twitter: @YinzerCrazyShow
Instagram : @Yinzer_Crazy
Facebook: Yinzer Crazy
Twitter: @YinzerCrazyShow
Instagram : @Yinzer_Crazy
Facebook: Yinzer Crazy
