For me, following the Red Sox was about the only way to connect with my dad. Whether watching them play on TV (channel 38, Hawk Harrelson announcing), or listening to the game on his black transistor that would be perched on the hood of whatever car he was fixing, or on the railroad tie of his garden as he wrapped netting around his blueberry bushes, the commentary gave us something to talk about that wasn't charged with anything other than baseball fervor and a unifying hatred of the Yankees. Fast forward many years, and it was my father in law's portable radio in their Ohio backyard, broadcasting the sounds of the Tribe game as "Mr. Wonderful" swung in his hammock. The lyrics might have been different, but the songs were the same: summer, baseball, and Dads.
My husband and I lost our dads 9 weeks apart in 2012. The two of them were nothing alike, and our relationships with them were markedly different. Yet when we hear baseball, broadcasting through the radio, we smile, and remember them both.