The 15th Major

Happy Easter!

On Sunday afternoon, watching Tiger snuggle one up on the 16^th hole of The Masters at Augusta National Golf Club, virtually sealing the deal (a truly amazing day in the history of golf), I reflected on my love for sports and my love for special moments in sports.  Attempting to sort out the genesis of my affections, a flood of memories and experiences immediately filled my soul.

It may have all started by hanging out in the kitchen with my Mom while she ironed my father’s shirts and listened to play-by-play radio of the New York Football Giants, the Notre Dame Fighting Irish, the New York Yankees and/or the New York Mets. 

Note:  My mother (Lois) may have been the best athlete in our family.  Her nickname was “Wilma Rudolph” (acclaimed as the fastest woman in the world, having won three gold medals in the 1960 Summer Olympics), because my Mom could flat out run like the wind.  It’s a shame women’s athletics had not evolved in the early to mid-1940’s, as her athletic opportunities would have been endless.  Unfortunately, she had to settle for playing a little basketball (six on six, two half-court zones, three forwards and three guards in each zone, players not allowed to cross mid-court, players only allowed two dribbles) and the piccolo in the band!

It may have been strongly influenced by watching my Dad (Jack) play softball behind our house at Washington Avenue Park (his adult athletic career coming to a screeching halt after back surgery) or attempting to keep up with my brother (pictured as the taller Rotarian and four years my senior) who played football, basketball and baseball through high school.  John’s collegiate football career as a quarterback (three days) was cut short due to a devastating knee injury.

Or it could have been listening to stories about my Uncle Clem (on my mother’s side), who was an All-State Football selection at Nutley High School in Nutley, New Jersey, then continuing his football playing career at Syracuse University. Or maybe my father’s high school wrestling career (pictured third from left in the first row) where he wrestled light-weight for four years (graduating at a sturdy 5’ 4”, 105 pounds), finishing second in the state of New Jersey in an AAU wrestling tournament.  Or how about my grandfather’s boxing and baseball exploits and the time(s) he wrestled the bear when the carnival came to town.

Note:  My father must have been a pretty solid wrestler as his high school wrestling coach was amenable to my grandfather’s mandate that the entire family be home for dinner by 5:00 sharp, regardless of the practice schedule.

If things weren’t already beginning to take shape, it may have also been my relationship with my neighbor/babysitter and the then love of my life, Marilyn Monticello (some 10-15 years older than me), who was always the first player picked when selecting baseball teams in our park, even in advance of her brother (Cheech), who was an All-State Baseball selection at Jonathan Dayton Regional High School in Springfield, New Jersey. 

Note:  I was never too fond of her boyfriend and future husband (Lenny) who would frequently share Marilyn’s babysitting duties…my first bout with jealously!   He did however make our existence more tolerable when he brought red pistachio nuts along for the assignment.

Or was it when our really strict parents allowed Jay Sullivan and me (during the summer between seventh and eighth grade) to hop a bus from the top of our street to Port Authority, followed by two subway train rides to watch the Bronx Bombers at Yankee Stadium for an afternoon contest.  Think about that for a moment!  Or could it have possibly been the influence of my high school basketball coach (Ray Yanchus), who taught me how to work, how to practice, how to play, how to compete and how to love the game.

I am not certain I can pinpoint the exact moment in time I fell under the spell and most would say it was simply organic however,  what I do know is if Francesco Molinari had won this year’s Masters, I would not have been on the keyboard at 2:23am the following morning , writing this nonsense!  April 14, 2019 at The Masters will not soon be forgotten!

Thanks for the memories!

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The back nine can only get better!