One of my vivid childhood memories was of the Chicago Tribune on our kitchen table. We'd all read it. My Dad would take the front section, my Mom, the features and ads...we got the comics. Even our pet tabbies, Murgatroyd and Melissa, got a special section chosen just for them...can you guess? Yes, it was the sports section. At the bottom of their pan. No disrespect intended, but as Dad said, "Nobody reads sports in this family."


When I talk about my lifelong passion for sports, most people assume it was Dad, or maybe a brother, who passed that along to me, taking me to games, teaching me how to keep a scorecard. The truth is that MY Dad couldn't care less about team sports. I still remember fighting him to watch Bears games, Cubs games, Blackhawks name it. "But, Dad," I'd protest. "It's the playoffs!"

It's not that he isn't athletic. At nearly 90, Dad still happily walks to the store and back, ran laps at a college track and swam until he was 80. He rides his ancient Sportrider in the basement of the family home, and...ahem...can still put a smile on my mother's face and a sparkle in her eye. I can only hope to be as happy and fit as he is on MY 90th birthday. 



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    Alison Moran

    Writing and broadcasting are my life, especially about women's sports and women's issues. I believe in God, Title IX, equal pay and equal rights for all mankind. Recently, I became the guardian of a beautiful, inquisitive little girl. Occasionally, you'll find me 'mommy blogging.' Read all about it!

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