January 06, 2026
Evan Macy/for PhillyVoice
Sports and fathers and sons are a common bond — and one that makes lifetime memories.
My dad was a particular kind of sports fan, you might know the type.
He rooted for a lot of teams during his life — from the Vikings and Dolphins of the 1970s to the championship Knicks teams, all the way to the Temple Owls (my alma mater) and the GW Revolutionaries (my sister's school). He was an Eagles fan, because he liked reading what I wrote about the team. And he did it with text exchanges like this:
Dad: You at the game?
Me: Yes
Dad: Eagles suck
(an hour later)
Dad: Told ya, they are terrible
(three hours later)
Dad: Nice win
If Joel Embiid looked good early in a game, my dad proclaimed him the MVP. If a team came out slow, they were irredeemable. He had no patience. My mother always made fun of him for going to sleep toward the end of Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, with the Mets trailing the Red Sox (prior to their historic collapse). He always said he woke up the next morning and it was "a different world."
My dad passed away in December, just 66. I'll never get those texts again.
Sports were a big part of my relationship with my dad. I know it's that way for a lot of fathers and sons. He coached me in little league. He tried, unsuccessfully, to teach me a jump shot like the one he had as he lumbered up and down the court playing in an over 30 league at the Lancaster Jewish Community Center. He was even a part-time basketball referee when he got older. He also taught me to play golf when I was 8 years old. That one stuck.
I know my dad was proud of me, but I think he felt the proudest when I joined a golf club just outside of Philly in 2019, Bluestone Country Club. I would take him to play a few times a year, and he navigated the club like he owned the place, like it was his own. We came close to winning the member-guest once. I don't know if we ever went more than a week without talking about it.
He was close to a scratch golfer at his peak, the Calcutta was his favorite holiday and he was a member at Meadia Height's Golf Club, where I grew up in Lancaster, PA, for more than 20 years. He sandbagged his entire life — so I can't be sure exactly what his true handicap was — but he played golf the day before he died. I played that morning, too. I actually won $40 from one of my buddies. I played great. I even made like a 50-foot birdie putt on the ninth hole.
I didn't get to tell him about that one.
Some of the most powerful and lasting things my dad taught me were about golf. And as I got older, and as I've tried to make sense of his shocking and way too early passing, I've started to realize that they were about life instead:
• Compartmentalize: When you're on the golf course, you're on the golf course. Leave your life at home. Being present when you're doing something meaningful is a gift, and golf taught me that.
• Have a short memory: Another lesson that translates. On the course, a good or bad shot should have zero impact on how well you perform on the next one. When you screw up in life, you always get to do it better the next time.
• You're never as good, or as bad as you think you are: Self-explanatory.
• Commitment: My dad had a plastic golf cart cover and a propane heater that fit in the cupholder. There was no temperature he wouldn't play golf in. Enough said.
• Sportsmanship, manners, etiquette: He was ruthlessly competitive and usually set a good example. When he didn't, those were lessons, too.
I don't know what it will be like the next time I'm out there playing, knowing I can't ever ask him how he might choose to play a 210-yard shot over water with a downhill lie, or why I always struggle with 30-yard pitch shots but can stick an 80-yard wedge shot. He wanted me to shorten my back swing and swing like Jon Rahm. I liked my big, wild, long swing. Maybe I will listen to him this summer.
The golf course has always been a spiritual place — we bonded for more than 30 years there, discussing everything from relationships, to God, and parenting. He gave his granddaughter a golf lesson the last time he came to visit. I'll make sure she never forgets it.
I know I will carry with me the overt ways he challenged me and subtly led me to be a good man.
Sports, golf included, have a power that is more than a conversation starter. They have a way of encapsulating life that is both simple and profound. My loss isn't unique. Everyone reading this can relate in some way — but as everyone who has ever lost a parent knows, the universality of it doesn't make it any easier to process.
But he would want me to keep trying to be a single-digit handicap, to keep trash-talking on the course, and to keep rolling my eyes every time an overzealous sports fan can't help but be impatient when the Eagles offense forgets how to complete passes.
My dad gave me the gift of the love of sports and it's become my livelihood, my biggest hobby, and my source of zen.
It's my turn to be the one teaching now.
Follow Evan on Twitter:@evan_macy
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