George Thorogood "Move It On Over"

You inherit things from your Dad.  Some of them stare right back at you in the mirror.

Like the way my temples are graying, as Dad’s did when he hit his 40s.  Or the kind of slouchy, no-ass posture figure that we both cut.

Some traits you can hear.  I can hear my Dad when I laugh.  Or when I exclaim, “Holy Mackerel!” which no normal person under 60 would say.

Other things are more ephemeral.  Like the quiet superstitions we both keep.

Growing up, Dad was neither the every-day disciplinarian, nor the more-likely yeller.  No, it was Mom who would drop the hammer if you were, say, eating cake in the off-limits living room, or if you left your winter coat on the kitchen floor instead of hanging it up.

What might Dad get upset about?

If you used his pencil.

Now, this was not any old pencil.

This was the pencil from the Scorebook.  And he’d been on a winning streak.

Dad coached high school baseball and basketball, and, like so many coaches and players, he had his superstitions.  And if his team was winning, that meant nothing was to be changed.

That pencil that was being used to record hits and strikeouts, or baskets and fouls?  It stayed with the Scorebook, and it was NOT to be used by my 8 year old sister to draw a picture.  Absolutely not.  Not without him freaking out. 

And the pencil stayed with the Scorebook, until his team lost.  After that, of course, he changed pencils.

What was he wearing when the winning streak began?  You’re damn right that he would be wearing that again on the next game day.

This proved to be a little weird on those years (and there were many) that he had a really great team, on a long winning streak.

The year that I was on the Varsity basketball team, and he was coaching the JV team, proved to be one of his best seasons.  The winning streak was stretching into weeks.

Did he win while wearing a pair of ratty old red plaid pants?  Yes he did.  Would he be wearing it the next game day, and the next?  You bet.  Would he allow Mom to sew up the ever-widening hole on the inseam?  Absolutely not.  That sort of thing could cause the winning streak to end!

Of course, pants aside, winning streaks do end, as did this one.  And Dad loves to tell the story of how, after the game, he overheard one of his players say, none too quietly, “Great.  Now maybe coach will change those f***ing pants!”

The next year, it was my basketball team that had the winning streak.  We lost the season opener, but proceed to rack up win after win after win.

And I could attribute it to a white t-shirt, some lucky underwear and George Thorogood.

I may have adopted some of my Father's fashion superstitions, but I was also a self-conscious teenager.  I couldn't get away with wearing the same outfit to school every couple of days.  Not without drawing unwanted attention to myself.

But no one would notice that I was wearing the same pair of underwear each time (washed between game days, I assure you).  And the repeat-t-shirt went unnoticed when I put different sweatshirts over it from game to game.

Before every home game, I'd have some time between when school let out and when I had to report to the locker room.  I'd go home, have something to eat and head up to my bedroom.  And me and the cat would listen to George Thorogood's "Move It On Over" album while I tried to nap.

I'm not exactly sure why it was that album.  It's certainly not good napping music.  But once the team got on a winning streak, I wasn't going to cause us to go off the rails by changing cassettes during naptime.

Let me point out, that my superstition-controlled destiny really wasn't much of a factor in my contribution on the court, since I wasn't exactly a star player.  I logged a few minutes in every game, but I wasn't a make or break presence.

Or was I?

We won 18 straight games and became the first Boys Varsity Basketball Team from Newburyport in nearly two decades, to win a game in the State Tournament.  Something must have been behind that streak of good fortune.

And if it wasn't me, then no doubt it was due to my Dad, who sat on the bench as an Assistant, who, I'm sure, had his own superstitions that he adhered to that season, that kept the winning streak alive.

So thanks, Dad, for the way I laugh and the distinguished gray and "Glory Days" basketball season and all the things that can and can't be seen, that you gave to me.

Happy Father's Day.


Hear the song on Youtube.