1948 marked the birth of my grandfather, Bill Owens, a lifelong sports fan and my mentor. Fifty-six years later, I was born, inheriting his passion for sports and Chicago Cubs fandom. That passion has shaped my childhood, my education, and my career ambitions.
My grandfather is the reason I love baseball, understand its importance, and why I want to make a career out of talking about it. Most kids grow up learning about baseball from watching highlight videos and playing video games. I learned it from a man who could probably recite the entire history of the sport without any help from Google. He’s a walking baseball encyclopedia, and I cherish both him and the knowledge he has passed down to me.
One of the places where my grandfather’s knowledge truly lives, is in his basement. Throughout the years, it has transformed from a regular basement into a sports museum. Every square inch of the room is covered in photos, baseballs, bats, books and even basketballs. Not to mention, that even the basement bathroom has photos covering the walls. Let me tell you from experience, it’s really comforting having Tony LaRussa stare at you while you’re doing your “business”.
As for my grandmother, all she says about his collection is, “We’re just lucky he had a space to pursue his dream, and it didn’t interfere with my stuff.”
My grandfather introduced me to baseball’s “Golden Age”, and made me fall in love with legends I never saw play. Ernie Banks. Hank Aaron. Orlando Cepeda. These weren’t just names on baseball cards or plaques, they were people with stories, and historical significance.
That’s what I really appreciate most about learning from my grandfather. He always made sure I knew the stories behind each player. This really has helped me grasp a better understanding about the different players and eras.
“It just gives you a better understanding of the individual,” he said. “Knowing the background and their stories helps you relate to them and helps you create a closer connection to them.”
My grandfather even once wrote a book about baseball and a connection to Bishop Hill, Illinois (a Swedish colony six minutes from our hometown of Galva).
He also coached me. Yes, actually coached me. From T-ball all the way through Peewee baseball, my grandfather was my coach. Even after that, he never really stopped coaching me. Whether he knew it or not, every conversation about a game, every breakdown of a play, and every opinion he shared helped shape how I think about sports and even life today. I still look forward to our weekly talks about sports, school, and everyday life. It’s one of the highlights of my week.
I must also mention that my playing career had an abrupt end after my senior year in high school. According to professionals, I had what they call “lack of talent”, and sadly in my case this was untreatable. Luckily, this hasn’t hindered me from pursuing a career in sports journalism.
When looking back, it’s clear that my desire to become a sports journalist didn’t come from one singular moment. It came from a lifetime of listening, learning, and loving the game alongside my grandfather. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
