From my weekly column at Sportsbubbler.com...

My favorite memory of the best guy I knew happened during this week 19 years ago. The passing of my grandfather is not something I talk about much with anyone. July 1st, 1990 always gets me a little sentimental. That is when my grandpa, my old man and my eight-old self sat third-base line at Old Comiskey Park in Chicago and watched a little piece of baseball history.

I am sure you are rolling your eyes thinking why should I care about a Chicago baseball story? Before you scoff, please think about those Field of Dreams moments you had with your grandpa or father at County and realize where I am coming from.

So back to July 1st, 1990. It was a hot day and the old lady was celebrating its 80th year of existence. It was the year the old arches eventually met the wrecking ball and Scott Peterson dogs were priced at a reasonable buck fifty. I remember that day for a couple reasons. No. 1 it was bat day and I walked out an authentic Louisville Slugger wood bat. Secondly, the Brewers were playing the Yankees. At the time, the Yankees were in the midst of mediocrity created by George Streinbrenner. At eight years old and filled with stories about Ruth from Grandpa and the battles the Sox had with Mantle’s Yankees in the 50’s, I would have thought Roger Maris was batting clean up.

That day the only star hitting in the Yankees’ lineup was Don Mattingly. So you would think it was going to be a dog game. Instead, it was the bulldog Glenn Hibbard and Andy Hawkins delighting the crowd to a little old school shutout baseball through seven and half innings.

At the time, I did not know what I was watching before my very eyes. I was watching Hawkins deal like no pitcher I had ever seen before. The White Sox could not touch him. He had a no-hitter going through seven. Hibbard was just as good as he gave up just four hits and kept the Yankees off the scoreboard.

Then baseball personified life like it always does in the eighth. Glory was at Hawkins fingers tips. He had a no-hitter going through seven. The only mistakes he made were a couple walks issued to Ron Karkovice and Ivan Calderon. Instead of being carried off the field, Hawkins lost the game in the eighth but not the no-hitter. His teammates failed him. Just like in life, you can be in control the whole time only to lose it because of someone else making a mistake. It happens and there is nothing you can do about it.

He walked a then for sure clean Sammy Sosa with two outs followed by a walk to Ozzie Guillen. The One Dog, Lance Johnson loaded the bases with, you guessed it, a walk. I do remember thinking Hawkins was bound to give up a hit. He had bases loaded and the temperature that day was a scorcher. Sure enough, the hit came from Robin Ventura who sent a drive to left field. Three runs in. Jim Leyritz missed play the ball and it was ruled an error. The no-hitter was still intact.
 
History repeated itself when Calderon sailed a ball to right and it found fair territory grass--an error committed by the forgettable Jesse Barfield. The Sox walked out with a 4-0 win but no hits. That day it was officially ruled a Hawkins’ no-hitter. A year later he was stripped of it by short sighted rules committee members because he did not pitch the full nine innings.

To this day, the game was not special because I saw an anomaly happen that day. It was special because I bet my grandpa that if the Sox won he would have to come back to being a Sox fan. See my grandpa was old school, he believed television was meant to be free. When the Sox went to cable, he swore them off and did the unspeakable—he watched WGN and became a Cubs fan. While he did not make good on that bet until 2005 (how convenient?), it was one of those moments I got to bond with the generations that came before me.

My grandpa told me stories of watching Ruth jack homers and cracked joke after joke. I lived in fear of my dad through most of my childhood. He could literally bench press 300lbs. so he was an intimidating presence to say the least. That day he was as gentle as your pillow. He bought me hot dogs, candy, soda, baseball cards and even taught me how to score a game in his weird way. We ate peanuts and cheered loudly when Johnson crossed home. I learned a first in a set of life’s lessons sitting in those cramped green seats. Lessons like mustard is the only thing that should be put on your hot dog and it is not how much you earn but how much you save. The only thing missing from that day was the three of us tossing the ball around. Still it was a day that sticks with you

So here is a suggestion on July 1st--take the time to think about a memory or two of that best person you knew who passed on. Instead of a tear, have a smile and a laugh. It was the way people like LeRoy J. Welter wanted to be remembered. I am sure that is how your favored person wanted it too.