Sins of My Father

Some of the fondest memories I have of my father are the times we'd spend fishing. My dad was an avid angler when I was growing up. Personally, I enjoyed the fishing, too, but more often than not went on these excursions to Lake Texoma with him on the promise of getting a six pack of my favorite soda packed into the ice.

These angling trips were even better when we timed them for a late afternoon Texas Rangers' game. I can remember many an afternoon sitting in a boat gently rocked by waves, swilling Dr. Pepper, sharing jokes with my dad and listening to the Rangers lose.

Now that I have kids of my own and my father lives a couple of hours away, we don't make those angling trips as often as we used to.

However, we both do still keep up with the Rangers.

And yes, they still stink.

It's a bad habit neither of us can seem to break.

If you, too, year in and year out subject yourself to the futility that is our local Major League Baseball team, you might feel like checking this site out.