I am not a sports fan and never have been. I paid a huge price for this when I was a kid, living as I did among White Sox and Cubs fans of the most rabid variety, e.g., 8-year-olds. During one sidewalk dispute, I failed to know some fact so basic that the others started ganging up on me. (Not the first time.) They demanded I name my favorite player and I couldn’t remember a single one, on either team. No Luke Appling, no Dave Philley, no Bill Wight … no Phil Cavaretta, no Andy Pafko, no Peanuts Lowrey … nuttin’. Finally, after more merciless pushing, I coughed up Bill Nicholson, Cubs shortstop. Or so I thought. But a check at Baseball-Almanac.com shows that Bill Nicholson played … right field.
Thank God my grandson K.A. isn’t similarly cursed. Just the opposite. Not only can K.A., 8½, hit and throw a ball like a 10-year-old. He also is a huge, dare I say obsessive, fan. In warm seasons, his love for our hapless Washington Nationals is without bounds. And in winter, it’s the NHL Washington Capitols all the time.
I don’t follow sports but I do love my grandson. Occasionally I’ll glance at the sports pages to have something to talk about. Recently the headline said the Caps were on a 6-game winning streak, their longest ever. When I saw K.A., I said something original like, ‘How about them Caps?’
Me: Think they can keep it up?
K.A.: Oh yeah!
Me: Who do they play next?
K.A.: Montreal Canadiens.
Me: Who’s gonna win?
K.A.: Capitols!
At that moment, my evil alter ego, Foxy Grandpa, emerged. I said, “Wanna bet?”
K.A.: Ten bucks.
I told him I didn’t think he had $10. He ran into his bedroom and came back waving bills. When he counted them out, though, there were only $3.
Foxy Grandpa: Put your money away. Here’s the bet: If the Caps win, I’ll shave off my moustache. If the Canadiens win, you have to shave your head.
(Note: I am not a total sadist. I already knew the kid was due for a haircut.)
So we shook.
A week passes and it’s the following Saturday, game day. Foxy Grandpa has entirely forgotten about the bet. He goes out all day, doing stuff, and rolls in around 7. Carol is standing there with the fishy look.
Carol: K.A. just called.
Me: Mmm?
Carol: He sounded very worried.
Me: Mmm?
Carol: He said you’re making him shave his head.
I had the impulse to duck. But ol’ Foxy Grandpa, bursting out of my id the way The Alien bursts out of John Hurt’s chest, started roaring with laughter.
I stopped laughing and started apologizing without really feeling apologetic. What I felt was a surge of pride and love, and the tears in my eyes weren’t all from laughter. But I told Carol I’d go over and let K.A. off the hook.
Next morning, I called Shawn to tell her I was on my way over.
Shawn: Did you know K.A. shaved his head?
Me: [Groans, then the laughter begins. Foxy Grandpa is grabbing for the controls.]
Shawn: He said he made a bet with you.
Foxy Grandpa: [Laughter grows louder.]
Carol (in the background): Is she mad?
Foxy Grandpa: Are you mad?
Shawn: I’m proud of him.
Foxy Grandpa (the tears coming up again): Me too.
Shawn had not actually shaved K.A.’s head, just given him a heavy trim. I drove over with our haircutting kit so she could smooth things out with the electric clippers. I couldn’t wait to see my beloved grandson and deliver some smarmy lesson about being a Man of Your Word. But when I got there, I didn’t even mention the matter, just gave him a big hug.
I figured, he’s learned this lesson on his own. He doesn’t need a pat on the back from Foxy Grandpa, or anyone.

Frank Joseph
www.tolovemercy.com

P.S. I’m going skiing! Me and Mister Sam connect with my old friend from college, Bill Tetzlaff, tomorrow at North Lake Tahoe for a week of guy fun. Ta-ta.

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