For the love of the game (and brothers)
Guest essay by Vincent J. (Vinji) Fortunato
Our guest essayist today is also a monthly profound photo contributor and you can find out more about him in our Photo Contributors tab. This is a wonderful narrative about family, brothers, and baseball. It's summer. What could be more profound?
For the love of the game (and brothers)
ByVincent J. (Vinji) Fortunato
Last week, Michael Kroth posted my monthly “profound photo,”
which happened to be of a male Cardinal looking right at me through the lens of the camera. The caption to the photo “Consciousness saying hello to itself” is meant to be taken literally. There is only one consciousness, despite appearances to the contrary. But this is not what I wanted to write about here.
What I did want to write about, and which was prompted a series of non-linear thoughts about cardinals, was about a different type of cardinal: a team of Cardinals, the St. Louis Cardinals, and how my dad’s enthusiasm for the game of baseball and the St. Louis Cardinals, in particular, fueled a still-running bond between me and my brothers.
My dad was an avid St. Louis Cardinal’s baseball fan. This might seem a little strange, given that he grew up in Brooklyn right around the corner of Ebbets Field (where the Brooklyn Dodgers used to play before moving to Los Angeles). (A point of trivia: as the story goes, my dad’s brother Al played for the Brooklyn Dayton’s in the late ‘40s and had planned on playing for the Brooklyn Dodgers until, unfortunately, he was drafted and sent to Korea. Other than playing on the army baseball team at the time with Willy Mays, a true story for another time, he never did play baseball again.)
My dad always had a rebellious streak in him and perhaps rooting for the St. Louis Cardinals as a native New Yorker from Brooklyn was made consciously. Whatever his motivations, his strong loyalty to the Cardinals affected all three of his sons. We learned about and became devoted fans of the game and of the Cardinals. (I must profess that in my early 20s, my allegiance changed to the NY Mets, perhaps because there was a part of me that liked suffering and perhaps also because Shea Stadium was a short 45-minute drive from home, on a good day with no traffic.)
For me, the love of the game started during the 1964 World Series, when the Cardinals were playing the New York Yankees. During the 4th game of the World Series, my brothers and I were playing in the basement of our two-story Cape Cod home on Long Island, when all of a sudden, the whole house seemed to start to rattle and shake as though something large and heavy was about to come crashing down through the ceiling and fall into the basement. Wondering what was going on, my brothers (I was 8 years old; Roy was 6 years old; and Larry was 4 years old) went running up the stairs to see what was going on. It turned out it was my dad jumping for joy.
Puzzled, we asked him what was happening, and he told us that Ken Boyer just hit a grand slam home run in the top of the 6th inning to put the Cardinals ahead 4-3 (which turned out to be the final score and which also evened up the series 2 games to 2). Because of the puzzled looks on our faces, our dad realized that it was time to educate his sons about the game of baseball.
(In another interesting family story. Ken’s brother Clete was also playing in the World Series; but for the Yankees. Both played 3rd base.In the bottom of the 7th inning in the 7th game of the World Series, Ken hit a solo HR to give the Cardinals a 7-3 lead.Then, in the top of the 9th, Clete hit a HR with one out to give the Yankees some hope. After John Blanchard struck out, Phil Linz then also hit a solo HR. However, Bobby Richardson then hit a pop-up to Dal Maxwell at 2nd base to end the game. Final score 7-5. St. Louis.)
And, so, since that Sunday afternoon game on October 11, 1964, my brothers and I became baseball fans for life. Now, that didn’t mean that we became friends. After all, we were brothers, with only 3½ years apart separating the three of us, and with both the usual and unique sets of rivalries and jealousies. We had childhood fights; our adolescent fallouts; and our adult issues.On top of these family dynamics, over 40 years ago our dad died at the young age of 44; an event that profoundly altered our emotional lives and life trajectories.
However, in the past several years, the three of us have become closer than we had ever been: we’ve not only solidified our brotherly love; we’ve become friends. Here we are (pictured below), two of us (myself and Roy) in our 60s, and Larry approaching 60. And the common basis, besides being brothers, that serves to help strengthen our love and friendship for each other is baseball.
Several years ago, my brothers started going on baseball tours, in which they’d visit different cities, mostly on the east coast, hang out together, watch baseball games, partake in the local cuisine, and sometimes listen to live music at night. A few years ago, I started joining them.
This year, in honor of Dad, the love of the game, and most important, brotherly love, the three of us will be flying in from different parts of the country (Idaho, Florida, and New York) and meeting up in Kansas City where the St. Louis Cardinals will be playing the Kansas City Royals. After watching two games, we will then drive across the state of Missouri to watch two more games in which the St. Louis Cardinals take on the Washington Nationals.
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