A Tribute to Rick, a Cleveland Baseball Fan
Sitting at the ballpark with a friend
On Monday, I’ll be at a funeral for a friend and a Cleveland baseball fan.
My friend, Rick, was an incredibly special person: An amazing husband, an incredible dad, an irreplaceable grandfather, and the kind of friend who makes you smile just knowing they are in your life. He was also a Cleveland baseball fan his whole life, 68 years, ended too early by the scourge of cancer.
Since this is a baseball blog, I’ll keep my reflections focused there. Rick and I shared a love of baseball, with him agreeing with me that the game is the most pure sport on the planet. Rick was probably a bigger fan of the Cleveland Browns, but he enjoyed Tribe/Guardians games with the best of them and we had a chance to go see a few together in the past decade or so that we were friends.
Rick always got a hot dog. He always looked for something to bring back to his wife and grandkids with the limited expendable income he had. The first time he came with me, we had to walk back to the car after reaching the gates because he had brought a pocketknife his dad had given him because he “wanted to take his dad to the game with him.” Unfortunately, metal detectors had other plans. But, I didn’t mind the walk with him, during which we would have more time to laugh, joke and talk about life, faith and family.
Rick was the perfect person to see a baseball game with. He understood the game incredibly well, but wasn’t interested in being a know-it-all about it. He’d listen to me talk about something I was excited about in regard to the team with genuine interest, but neither of us would talk about anything for long enough to distract us from rooting for Cleveland to pull out a win.
And yet... I can’t remember the scores of any games we went to. I know Cleveland won at least one of the games I saw with Rick, and I know they also lost one. But, I don’t know if they were crucial games or meaningless games with playoffs out of reach or the division securely in hand. I don’t know. What I know is that I had an amazing time spending an evening with a man I deeply respected, enjoying a friendship we both valued (fortunately for me, he enjoyed my company for who knows what reason!).
As an astute baseball fan, you’ve probably recognized that Rick never saw a Cleveland championship. He never even saw the Browns make a Super Bowl APPEARANCE. Yet, at the end of his life on earth, I don’t think he spent much time dwelling on either disappointment. Instead, he poured all of his unquenchable, unforgettable spirit into loving his family with every last ounce of his bodily existence... a perspective that wasn’t a departure from how he lived his entire life.
May the same be said about me. I love the Guardians, but let no one be able to accuse me of that lowercase “love” rivaling my LOVE for my wife and our two sons and two daughters. May they live as securely in my love, unaffected by emotions from the fickle nature of my favorite baseball team, as Rick’s children and grandchildren did in his.
Last summer, I had the great opportunity to take one of Rick’s granchildren, who is my godson, to a game. He is an amazing kid in whom I see a lot of the spirit of his grandfather. Rick asked for a photo of the two of us and was so tickled to see me trying to share my love of this game with a new generation. Even though he knew there was no guarantee that if his grandson became a fan that even HE would see a championship in the NEXT 68 years. Because, when it comes down to it, the triumph is not in the title, the joy is in the journey. The victory itself is made sweeter because of the losing that made you think the happy ending was never going to arrive. That’s a lesson worth learning, because it’s one that life is going to teach us all, as it did Rick. Thankfully, he picked up on it quite early on.
I’m sure next time I go to Progressive Field, Rick will join the throng of ghosts that accompany each of us when we go to games - people we know and love who knew and loved Cleveland baseball. People who made us laugh and whom we would turn and high five (Rick with his huge, rough hands would make an impact on any hand he high-fived at a game, and he DID) when Manny Ramirez or Jose Ramirez came through AGAIN. People who make taking the time and spending the money to go to a game SO worth it.
When I see a dad and his son or a grandfather and his grandson, I’ll think of Rick. I’ll think of him when I take my kids to games (as I do almost every time I go). I’ll hope to teach them how to ride out the toughest losses of life as Rick did; with strength, grace, humor and love in every moment. That kind of attitude makes you a great baseball fan, and, perhaps not coincidentally, it makes for a great life.
Rest in peace, Rick. May comfort and strength from above attend your beloved wife and family. Hope you and your dad find a way to catch a game some way or another this year.