Happy Father’s Day: Forever a Vikings Fan

Image courtesy of Austin Belisle

When you lose a parent — in my case, my father three years ago — you lose more than you can imagine. You lose your father choking up on your wedding day or welcoming his first grandchild to the world. More than that, you lose the little things, like an afternoon spent watching the Vikings or an evening learning how to barbecue the perfect ribs. Those memories, and events yet-to-happen, burn bright in my mind — I’ll never forget them, but I’ll also never let them define me.

The day he died, my mother shared these words with me, and they’ve allowed me to move past the anger, the pain, and the sadness that came when I was just 20 years-old:

[quote_center]”You can’t let this define you, Austin. Try to remember the good times, and find strength in the bad ones.”[/quote_center]

It’s difficult to look back and think of those happy moments — our last few years together were unbearably difficult. But in the time since his passing, I HAVE found strength in a number of people; my amazing mother, my twin sister, my incredible uncle, and other close friends.

I wish my father was a part of that list, but if there’s one connection, one memory I can cling to, it’s our unbreakable bond over the Minnesota Vikings. Our happiest memories together came sitting in front of the TV every Sunday, cheering on our favorite team in purple and gold. I won’t let his death define the rest of my life, but I’ll always hold the my father’s beloved team near and dear to my heart.

Image courtesy of Austin Belisle

Image courtesy of Austin Belisle

Near the end, the “times” were nothing but bad — he was an alcoholic who let the disease control his life and come between the relationship he had built with his son and family. I won’t lie and say it’s easy to pick out the “best” memories with my father, but I’ll never forget how much he loved the Vikings and how he shared that passion with me.

A native Minnesotan, my father’s been attached to the team’s hip his entire life. He’s seen every Super Bowl failure, every missed field goal, and every interception. His life in Minnesota wasn’t that of a midwestern fairy tale; his own father was abusive, and he moved out at an early age with his twin brother and two younger siblings.

[quote_center]One could say that’s why my father loved the Vikings so much; they’re a team that’s endured hardship and faced disappointment, but never stopped moving forward — much like him.[/quote_center]

He supported them for years, and eventually moved to California, where he met my mother, fell in love, and welcomed my sister and I into the world. From an early age, I remember seeing his Minnesota Moose hats, his Vikings horns, and his Kirby Puckett baseball cards around the house, and soon after, found myself intrigued by the sports memorabilia.

I took to Randy Moss, Cris Carter, and the rest of that magical 1998 team when I was 6 years old. It’s safe to say that’s when my fandom began; when I watched the Vikings go 15-1, dominate during the regular season, and come crumbling down on a missed Gary Anderson field goal in the NFC Championship Game. It was heartbreaking for a fan like my dad, who had seen that story play out far too many times before.

We both handled the loss like true sports maniacs, screaming and crying because our team wouldn’t be moving on to the Super Bowl. “I’m going to get a tattoo of the Vikings head when they win it all,” he’d say, pointing to his arm to show me the exact spot. But, he never got the tattoo, and unfortunately, never will.

Image courtesy of Austin Belisle

Image courtesy of Austin Belisle

I could have easily rooted for the 49ers as a kid or grown to love the brash attitude of the Raiders, but my memories rooting for the Vikings, both good and bad, keep me cheering for the team thousands of miles away.

Every Sunday, my father and I would wake up, drive down to a small Pho (traditional Vietnamese noodle soup) restaurant with the newspaper in hand, and make our game picks over two small No. 8’s. I’d order an orange soda, him a Diet Coke, and we’d talk about this week’s games, Daunte Culpepper’s long bombs, or the “Williams Wall”.

The waiter, who works there to this day, remembers my order (I get a large now) and always greets me with a smile. I’m sure he wonders where my father is, but seeing his face reminds me of the joy I shared for years with my dad in booth No. 23. After finishing our “breakfast”, we’d head home just in time for Frank Caliendo’s segment on ESPN’s NFL Sunday Countdown, then sit for hours as Dick Stockton’s velvety voice narrated the on-field action.

Around lunch time, we’d pull out the Fry Daddy and make a batch of homemade chicken wings, then watch as the Vikings (probably) lost yet another game. I once ate 40 in a sitting, then washed it all down with a Dr. Pepper — a feat he was never able to match. Once the game was over, we’d head outside and throw the football around, playing a game called “Bullets”. We’d hurl the ball as hard as we could at each other, and the first person to drop it was the loser.

[quote_center]Our Sunday routine wasn’t just a routine — it was a ritual, and one we shared for years before the disease sunk it’s claws into my father.[/quote_center]

As my father’s addiction became worse, we started to watch less and less football together. We’d skip breakfast, and he’d pour a Bloody Mary earlier and earlier each Sunday. As Christian Ponder threw interception after interception, my father would miss the action (maybe that was a good thing) because he was passed out on the couch.

It was difficult, to say the least, and by the time he passed, we hadn’t watched a game together in years. When Adrian Peterson broke the 2,000-yard mark, he had no idea, and we couldn’t share that moment together. He didn’t see my excitement when the team drafted Teddy Bridgewater, and he hasn’t read a single word I’ve posted on Vikings Territory. It makes me sad to write all this down, but I also find a silver lining in it all.

Football connected me to my father when it felt we had little else in common — I liked video games, he couldn’t stand them. I loved Batman, and he never embraced that. But football, and the Vikings, man, did we know how to watch a game together. I’m a fan because of my father, and in spite of the pain he brought upon my family, I’ll continue to root for them and love my dad for all that he provided us.

No, my dad’s mistakes and errors in judgement don’t define him. And no, his death won’t define my life moving forward. He loved me to death, and though he didn’t always show it, he showed it to me with every high-five during a game, with every pass rocketed toward me in the front yard, and with every breakfast we shared over the newspaper.

[quote_center]If there’s one thing that defines me, it’s the fact that I’m a fan of the Minnesota Vikings, and I owe that to my father. [/quote_center]

If you have a chance, catch a game with your father, tell him you love him, and argue over who’s the best wide receiver in the league. Sports have a way of bringing us together, and their powerful effect worked for me and my father. Celebrate the men who have helped shape us, and cherish every moment you have with them, big or small. To every dad out there, Happy Father’s Day.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I miss you, and I’ll always love you.

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