But he worked 12 hour days 6 days a week to raise 7 kids, so he gets a pass. A week after Father’s Day we are celebrating his 80th birthday.

My two older brothers were Dodgers fans and I just HAD to be different, hence the halo. My younger brother took after my dad and works 12 hour days and is not into sports but I have cultivated a raging Angel fan in his son.

My father was a baseball fan, but cared little for the Halos. Moving his clan from LA down to OC in 1962, he tried to raise his family Dodger Blue. Of the 10 people that were in my house when I was a child, I was the only one who cared more about the Angels. They tolerated and followed the local nine, but I adored them.

However, my dad was an exec with Security Pacific National Bank, which helped managed the funding for the construction of the ballpark. So they became a principal sponsor and enjoyed the first three rows behind the home dugout. SPNB was headquartered downtown LA, which is where those tickets were held. back then, obody wanted to drive all the way down to Anaheim to watch baseball, when the Dodgers were practically in the shadow of their office tower. My dad was able to bring home tickets for practically every game. Therefore, my brothers and I grew up as THE fan regulars during the mid-sixties. We played catch with Rick Reichardt and Bill Rigney, knew Bobby Knoop personally, would chant a family “Schaaaaaaaaaaaaal” after every putout from 3B, etc.

As soon as my oldest brother could drive, my Dad would jsut hand us the tix and leave us be, returning to his TV for Dodger games with my grandfather. We turned into stadium rats long before the recent rodent invasion. My brothers eventually moved on to other things. I stuck.

Funny enough, my mom eventually came around, and well in time to see 2002. She passed very recently, so I know she passed happy.

I will be taking Rubixqube and HaloVet to see grandpa in a couple of weeks, both for a belated Father’s Day and before HaloVet leaves town for grad school. Dad isn’t doing so well these days, so there won’t be any rubbing in of the whole Halos-versus-Dodgers-and-the-rest-of-the-NL-West thing. But that’s Ok. He has enough WS memories. He doesn’t need any of ours.

My dad worked as an operations officer for United California Bank, but worked generally 8-5 and afforded him time to devote to being a baseball fan in general. He was born and raised in Orange County so he followed the minor league teams in the area (one of which was the Angels). The major league teams he supported were St. Louis (team furthest west) and the Yankees (something I did not know until he was dying!! He raised me to hate the Yankees…oh well) because they were broadcast nationally.

When the Angels moved to Orange County, he was an early supporter and when the stadium opened, he worked in the money room for $20 a night. He took my brother and me to about 30-40 games a year and left us in the care of friends of his who were ushers in the right field, field level. Back then, we pretty much sat by ourselves. Between the third and seventh inning (after and before the hawkers would cash in and out), he would join us.

Pretty much started an connection between my father, my brother, me and baseball that lasted until the day he died (the grandkids sang “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” at his funeral). He passed in 2000 and I cannot see, listen, or think about baseball without thinking of my father — which is pretty much every day. It was a nice legacy to leave us. I’m doing the same now with my kids.

Fo another story about my father and baseball — check out Ashley’s blog at www.ashthompson.blogspot.com

I wrote this for him.

I became an Angels fan as a kid. I grew up behind the Orange Curtain, about 5 miles or so from the Big A (right by Foothill High — went to Mildred Morrow, for those who remember it). My sister, for some reason became a hardcore Doyers fan, probably because she became one after we moved to LA.

My dad was a Cubs fan, which taught me how to deal with the disappointments of the late-60’s/early-70’s Halos.

When I was about 7, my dad was transferred to Boston for a year, and he took me to the BoSox community pancake breakfast, which was the day of the game with… THE ANGELS!!!!

I miss him.

He WAS a Doyers fan but because we lived in Orange County and Halo games were cheap then (late 80’s and 90’s) so we went to Angel games. Little did he know that he was creating a die-hard HALO fan in his little son who would smear eyeblack on his face in Little League because Wally Joyner did it…

When he realized I was a fan, he was, in turn, converted and because of it we actually have something to talk about that doesn’t result in us yelling at each other.

He was an Angels fan (despite the fact that we lived in LA) and took me to Angel home games at the Ravine when I was a boy. Typical dad into sports = son into sports. After baseball, he played fast pitch softball until he was 35. After baseball I played fast pitch softball until I was 35. Like father like son.

your dad was a good man indeed, and you’re a good reflection of him.

I lost my own father in 2003. Sports was a huge part of his life. Back in San Jose, where I was born, he was an integral part of the local sports scene. He was head of the San Jose State boosters’ club, and in that capacity gave Dick Vermeil and his wife much-needed jobs running the club-sponsored students’ hangout. He was an AAU referee, the head judge at AAU-sponsored track meets in the area, and in that capacity hosted the Japanese track team in a cultural exchange during the run-up to the Tokyo Olympics. Our house was more or less a hangout and feeding place for the original AFL Raiders team, back when that was a shoestring operation, because he’d known a lot of them when they were kids. He was a good friend of Elroy Hirsch, probably from his days in the Navy. When we moved down to LA, increased work responsibilities curtailed these activities, but he did become friends through Hirsch with a few people on the Coliseum Commission, from whom he was able to get us into the sideline at Rams games. I even got a game-used ball once. And the club sandwiches at Julie’s were the best!

Yes, my dad loved sports. He did his best to inculcate in me a love of track, basketball and football. Especially football. He was an extremely intelligent observer of football games, quite often calling penalties before the flag was thrown. And he did make me a fan of all these sports.

But the one sport he never warmed to was baseball. He didn’t hate the game; he watched it, and took us to Dodger games (memorably the ’66 WS). But he had no passion for the game. Unlike most boys, love of baseball was handed down to me from my mother.

And what was my Mom’s favorite team? The Angels. She was a fan of the team even before we moved down here. Why? I don’t know; I was only five when we moved. But I do recall her favorite player was Albie Pearson, so she must have been paying attention. Sure, for my first few years down here I favored the Dodgers; these were after all the years of Koufax and Drysdale, and most of my friends were Dodger fans. My Mom didn’t push baseball on me because sports was Dad’s bailiwick. But once I really started paying attention to baseball, something about the Angels appealed to me more, and by the time I was ten I was a devoted fan, to the consternation of everyone in my family but Mom. One of my brothers, at that time an acolyte of Ayn Rand, even cornered me and said that I was dooming myself to be a loser by identifying with underdogs. I told him no, I actually Identified with Linus the Lion-Hearted, and a little with George of the Jungle as well. My Dad just accepted the fact that he had a son with an “artistic temperament.”

But my Mom was of course happy, and she did her best to schlep me down to as many games as possible. But still, I didn’t meet any other Angel fans among my peers until I was well into college, so for many years my Mom and I carried our fanship in isolation until she passed away in 1980.

When Ersty caught that last fly ball with both hands in Game 7, my wife and I were there. And while my heart leapt with joy, I suddenly got very quiet, because I knew my Mom was there as well.

So I have my Mom to thank for being an Angels fan, but it was Dad who laid the groundwork, teaching me that the joy of sports is in the winning, but the love of it is in seeing it played right.

And my first game was May 20th. My dad had to sneak me out of the house and take me to the game. My mom was pissed! But my dad introduced me to the angels very early in my life.
Growing up, i wasnt a huge angels fan, but i paid attn. After the strike, my dad was mad at baseball and swore he would never go back. Then once disney bought the angels, my dad became the biggest angel hater ever. this drove me to become more and more an angels fan, and now i am die hard. His hatred drove me to find out all the stats i could, pay attn to the minor leagues and watch every aspect of the team.
So even though my dad isnt an angels fan anymore he is the reason i am one today. (he is a padres fan now. the sweep this past week was oh so sweet!)
He loves the game so much. And the love i have for the game brings the two of us together even though we are 3000 miles apart.
love you dad. happy fathers day.

My very first memory as a child is watching the Los Angeles Angels AAA team in The Pacific Coast league in Los Angeles. I remember holding this HUGE hot dog sitting next to my Dad. My Dad actually played in The Pacific Coast League, but was never given a chance to place in The Show because Mexicans were not allowed in the Bigs.

As it states in my Bio, Gene Autry gave season tickets to my family in partial compansation for the City of Anaheim taking property from us to build Angel Stadium. My Dad and Gene, amongst other Hollywood types becames friends, and the many stories start there. My Dad was a HUGE Angel fan, he lived and died for them.

My dad passed away in 2001, and never saw Hhis Angels take “The Big One” as he used to put it.

To this day, my season package includes an empty seat for Pops. He WAS there game 7 in the most glorious day in Angel history.

He is still alive and I miss him very much. My father has almost everything to do with me being as fascinated with baseball as I am. Dad was a very good player himself, he was drafted by the White Sox in the 50s. He was a 3B man SS, 2B.

Dad never played pro ball, but he coached and taught at so many levels. His patience level was amazing when it came to baseball, he gets frustrated at other things. But with baseball he knows the longer you wait, the better the outcome.

Dad took me to my first Angels game of course, hit millions of grounders to me, coached multiple teams and players. One of the nicest compliments I ever heard was when he said I was a better infielder than he ever was. Was he just being nice? Who knows. My dad knows baseball.

He wore No. 3, I wore No. 11 as a jersey number when I played, for Jim Fregosi, who was dad’s favorite player in the 60s.

My fondest memory of my Dad and baseball has to be Game 6 of the World Series, 2002. I watched the most important game in Angels history with him and my Mom at their house. I remember how calm Dad was … he said, "don’t worry son, this game isn’t over. The Angels are going to put some hits together … " I was chewing my fingernails off, but of course, Dad was right. Boy when Erstad caught that ball I could swear I saw a tear going down his cheek. This was 10 years or so after he said he would never watch another game because the “players are making too much damn money”.

Thanks for all the ground balls Dad. I love you and Happy Father’s Day. Your grandson will be taking ground balls soon.

Thanks Soth for the original post.
Cheers, highland

I’m digging the stories from the O.G.s here.

More from the over-50 set, please!

My Pops was also Captain of what became the World Champion Motercycle stunt group known as Los Cosacos Mexicanos (Mexican Cosacks) (sp). They were based out of Santa Ana. They beat a group from this area named The Victor McClaglen Motorcycle Stunt Group while cometeing in in Mexico City. Victors group still performs locally from time to time. As a matter of trivia, they once got 16 men on one Harley. The group broke up due to recruitment of most of the team to fight WWII. Pops was quite a man. He, Gene, John Wayne are still my HEROS!!

… . Although it wasn’t baseball, my son scored a goal today in “beat-the-goalie” at the fair in Maidenhead today, and he also said “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy” to me for the first time. So I am a proud dad.

That was nice. Thanks for setting him up to that, mummy (wifey).