Reflections through generations.

Growing up, my dad passed many things down to me. He passed on his love and a set of principles that that will always stand as the foundation of who I am and who I will become.

But he also passed on one of his greatest loves to me, one of the few things that bring peace and balance to a chaotic life. He passed on a love for the sport of baseball.

Ever since I was a child, I remember my dad's love and sometimes obsession with the sport and all of the things that come with it. He has told me multiple times how he would rock me to sleep while watching Baseball Tonight or late night ball games. When I was 3, he took me to my first game, the White Sox beating the Yankees.

I was raised on stories of seeing the great players from the '60s and '70s in their prime. There were stories of my dad falling asleep to St. Louis Cardinals' games because they had the strongest broadcast in the nation at the time.

He's told me stories about obsessing over players and their stats and losing domestic tranquility when he joined his first Rotisserie Baseball League (the first incarnation of fantasy baseball).

In these stories, he has passed on his undying love for baseball and all that it represents.

A few weeks ago, as my dad and I were doing yard work, we sat down and talked about baseball. We exchanged stories about our greatest experiences and what we got from the sport.

He told me stories of watching historical games, experiencing history first hand. He told me about a game between the Atlanta Braves and New York Mets on the fourth of July that lasted until four in the morning.

Little did I know, I would be seeing something akin to that a week later.

The St. Louis Cardinals and the New York Mets played a 20-inning game, 11 more innings than a regular game. Every couple of innings, I was on the phone with my dad explaining what was going on and how it was just like the story he was telling the week before.

After 20 innings and 19 pitchers, two of which were position players for the "Red Birds," the game came to an end and I took in what I had just witnessed.

That's going to be one of the stories I pass on to my children one day, just like my dad passed on his stories to me and just like his dad and grandfather passed on to him.

Baseball is more than just a game and more than America's pastime.

Baseball is an undying love that is passed on through the generations and is carried through the tales of fathers. The spirit of the game will never die as long as we pass these stories through generations