Right after I finished watching Aaron Boone his a walk-off home run to end the ALCS, I said to myself that "I should give dad a call and see what he thought of the game." It was as if the past 9 months had never happened and he was just walking around the house in the Woodlands. It was a really emotional moment when I realized, again, that he was not of this world anymore. It just hit like a ton of bricks, again. No matter how many times this is going to happen in my life, it will probably always sting just the way it did tonight, and any other night when this happens.

I really miss those times. Dad may have loved football and basketball, but I think that he always had a special place in his heart for baseball. I have fond memories of dad working out in the front yard while Milo Hamilton called the Houston Astros game on the radio. I remember all those games in the near empty and cavernous Astrodome as the Astros either won or did not win. And I remember calling dad after nearly every major league championship series or World Series.

He hated the Yankees. Who doesn't? But he would have gotten a kick out of this year's championship series.

I wonder if someday I'll have a kid who shares my love of sports. Although not as consuming to my life as it once was, sports still sometimes completely takes over. On a boring evening, sports can almost always guarantee some kind of thrill. Sure, I could be jaded and talk about how moneyed sports are now, or how these players are just big babies, but when sports are played correctly, I think that it's just as good as any movie or book that I've ever read. The corruption of pure sport is an interesting topic though. I guess for a good examination of that, you should rent Spike Lee's "He Got Game."

Just like every day of the past 8 months, I miss my dad. I can still hear the sound of the baseball hitting the glove on my hand. I can still remember him getting really mad at me in the car after I threw a temper tantrum after I struck out in a game. I can still remember coaching third base of my brother's baseball games as my dad coached from the dug out. I remember the Astros games that we used to go to.

I'm sure that wherever he is, he still hates the Yankees. But I'm sure that someday he'll be smiling as I play catch with my kid(s) that I will probably someday have.

matt out