This is 8-year-old Jeffrey loving life and playing hockey in Waterloo, Ontario, circa 1993. Please note the Red Wings jersey and non-matching North Stars socks, the one long Bugs Bunny tooth beside the small baby chiclet, and my bedhead hair that I refused to comb while knowing full-well it was picture day. (Submitted photo/Sharon D’Andrea, my lovely mumsie)

By Jeff D'Andrea

Sports Series

For the love of the game; Part three, Jeffrey’s journey

Mar 19, 2020 | 5:36 PM

Over the last two days, the Prince Albert Raiders and the Carlton Crusaders senior girls basketball team have talked about how they fell in love with hockey and basketball in paNOW’s sports series, For the love of the game.

Now it’s my turn.

For me, it all started with my dad Larry. If you would have asked me as a kid who my hero was, I would’ve said Doug Gilmour or Jerry Rice or Michael Jordan. But looking back, it was always pops. I’ve always looked up to him and have always strived to be at least half the man he is. I think I still work to do that.

He’s also been super into sports himself. He played football for the University of Waterloo Warriors and later was the offensive coordinator for the team, albeit that was like half a lifetime ago. He always had a game on the T.V., often took us to see his old Warriors play and later to Toronto to watch the Maple Leafs, Blue Jays and Raptors.

As amazing a father he was, pops was often on business trips when I was a kid. While he was gone, I made sure to watch Hockey Night in Canada, Blue Jays baseball, NBA Sundays, TSN SportsDesk (way before it was called Sportscentre) and read his Sports Illustrated magazines. So when he’d come home, we’d always have something to talk about.

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At one point, seven-year-old Jeffrey proudly proclaimed his desire to grow up and be a play-by-play announcer for the Toronto Blue Jays, who back then were on their way to winning their first of two straight World Series. Pops said “alright. If you’re going to call the games, you have to know who’s on the team.”

I took that advice seriously, maybe too seriously. It got to the point where dad would brag about my Blue Jays roster knowledge at his slo-pitch games. One of his teammates’ wives really tried to stump me.

“Alright smart guy, who’s the first base coach?”

“Ummmm… oh! Bob Bailor, number three.”

I was a freak. Seven-year-old me not only knew who Bob Bailor was, and what number he wore. And I still do. And now you do, too.

That hunger for sports knowledge, useful or otherwise, began there. Even when pops wasn’t on the road and was able to come home every day, I was still trying to learn everything I could about every sport. I was hooked.

But I wasn’t always good at it.

Dad would grab the newspaper every Saturday with that week’s NFL schedule on them, and we’d do pick ‘ems against each other. He would smash me every time because 10-year-old me would always pick the expansion Jacksonville Jaguars to win. Why did I pick a team to win all 16 games in their inaugural season, you ask? Well, I thought their name, logo, and jerseys were really cool and I felt sorry for them because they were just starting out. All of that may be true, but you don’t get fashion or sympathy points. I still looked forward to eating bowls of popcorn and cheering for those Jags, so I’d get that pick ’em point. But the Jaguars were 4-12 that year… and have rarely had a good year since.

I dressed up as Blue Jay Mookie Wilson for Halloween in kindergarten, specifically because his name was “Mookie Wilson.” Don’t worry, I didn’t use blackface as part of the costume. I was also a huge fan of outfielder Candy Maldonado, for obvious sugar-related reasons as a youngster.

I fell in love with hockey watching Doug Gilmour and his beautiful black hair flowing in the Maple Leaf Garden air. I started playing hockey, and it quickly became my favourite to both play and watch. I was a bang average player at best, but nobody was having more fun out there than me. Perfect dressing room guy, but not a player you’d want in the final minute of a one-goal game.

I remember watching Michael Jordan dunk right in Magic Johnson’s face at one point. I didn’t really know what was happened, but I wanted to find out. I was pretty into basketball after that.

Back in his prime with the 49ers, Jerry Rice caught a high pass and was completely destroyed by a low hit from a safety. Rice did a full flip in the air and landed awkwardly on his neck/shoulder but still managed to catch the ball. Sign me up, now I love football forever.

I later found out that I loved creative writing in high school, so here I am. I’m so thankful that I’ve found myself in a career where I am literally required to spend my days looking up sports stats, memorizing rosters, checking news and breaking down games.

There may not be any sports going on across the world right now for obvious reasons, but that will never change who I am—a silly sports nut who still knows who Bob Bailor is.

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Jeff.dandrea@jpbg.ca

On Twitter: @jeff_paNOW