Originally Posted By DAR I posting this here because there's no reason to muck this up with usual political garbage. By Kieran Darcy Page 2 NEW YORK -- I spent the evening of Sept. 10, 2001, in bed watching the opening "Monday Night Football" game of the season: Giants vs. Broncos. Normally I would have watched the game downstairs in front of the big screen with my father, a fellow die-hard Giants fan. But I had torn ligaments in my left ankle three days earlier, so I stayed in bed with my leg propped up. The game didn't go so well. The Broncos put it away with 17 straight points in the second half. I was already nodding off to sleep about midway through the fourth quarter when I heard my father trudging up the stairs. He poked his head in the room, we exchanged a few disgusted grumbles, and then he shuffled off to find his pajamas. That was the last time I ever saw my father alive. The past four September 11ths have been days I've wanted to end as quickly as possible. But this one … this one feels different. Maybe it's because of that number: "5." It just looks and sounds a little more "concrete." Maybe it's simply because there was a Giants game last night, just like five years ago. All I know is, I feel compelled to pause and reflect. And to share, with whomever might be interested. As I said in my eulogy five years ago after he died in the north tower, my dad was my hero. I never told him that. I can only hope that he knew. I cannot imagine a better father. I couldn't have asked for anything more. We probably bonded over sports more than anything else. He was never a great athlete, but he was always a huge fan -- and he instilled that love of sports in me. He grew up a few blocks from Yankee Stadium, and actually worked for the Yankees (helping handle fan mail) during the historic summer of 1961. He told me so many great stories from those days, like the time Elston Howard just showed up in a local park and played catch with my dad and his friends. Too bad his killer baseball card and autograph collection (including a canceled check signed by Babe Ruth that Ruth's widow personally sent him) "disappeared." (Don't worry Mom, I forgive you!) I still vividly remember my dad dropping me off at my first Little League practice. And attending countless athletic events I participated in from then on -- basketball games, baseball games, soccer games, track meets. I could always count on seeing his smiling face behind the bench, in the bleachers or near the finish line. And that smile was the best part -- because not only was he there, but you could tell he was genuinely enjoying the experience. <<i> please follow the link below</i>> <a href="http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=darcy/060911" target="_blank">http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=darcy/060911</a>
