The Time My Dad Tried to Beat Up Robin Yount

Let’s just get this out of the way right off the bat.

My name is Ryan Jones, and I’m a Red Sox fan, despite being born and raised in the Baltimore area (Bel Air to be exact). I’m sorry.

I’ve lived in Boston since 2006 and have lived in close proximity to the Fenway area since then. I work in Fenway, and manage a group of bars and restaurants around the stadium. My financial well-being hinges on the success of the Sox; I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t have a lot to do with my allegiance.

Regardless, I’m all in at this point. Even if I move back to Baltimore I can’t be an O’s fan again. My family wouldn’t let me. They are die-hard Orioles fans, they know the choice I’ve made. I’m forever shunned and I can’t say I blame them.

That said, you won’t find a bigger Ravens fan than myself, and I make it well known in Boston. I wear Ravens hats, jerseys, shirts and socks. I’ve got Ravens golf club covers, balls and markers. I hate the Pats and go out of my way to let everyone know.

I’ve started a Ravens fan club in Boston, Ravens Nation North. We get together every Sunday in Fenway, eat Berger Cookies, put Old Bay on everything and reminisce about our days in Baltimore.

With yesterday being opening day and the Os beating the Sox, I was reminded of a story about my father which I thought some readers may find entertaining.

My dad passed away a couple years back. He was everything Baltimore. Our basement growing up was a Baltimore sports shrine. The walls were purple and orange. Signed memorabilia draped the walls. We went to game 2131 together. Johnny Unitas and Brooks Robinson were his heroes. We had the Sunday partial season ticket plan in section 354.

I saw my father cry one time – the last game at Memorial Stadium. When I started rooting for the Red Sox, he didn’t talk to me for the better part of a year.

Anyway, when I was seven years old in 1989 I was given an old box of baseball cards by my great uncle. After digging through them and checking the value of every one, I stumbled upon a Robin Yount rookie card. At the time it was worth around $300, which to a seven-year-old is roughly around a million bucks.

While they probably would have preferred to sell it to All Star Cards on Belair road, after a lot of begging I convinced my parents to let me attempt to get the card signed.

At this time the Brewers were still in the American League, and they happened to be playing the Orioles the following weekend.

On June 11, 1989 I stood outside the visitor gate of Memorial Stadium. My card in hand I eagerly anticipated seeing the All-Star shortstop. As he emerged from the gate I sprinted towards him. Now I’m sure Robin Yount is a great guy – I’ve actually heard he’s incredibly amicable – but I’m going to tell this the way I remember it.

As I approached him, he turned to make a right towards the Brewers bus, knocking me on the ground (obviously most likely by mistake). I saw my father that angry twice in my life: once involved an incident with my sister and her boyfriend, the other was at this moment.

As my father fought his way through security and up on to the Brewers bus, I heard Bob Uecker say, “get that jerk off the bus.” He didn’t use the word jerk…use your imagination.

My mother grabbed the card, ripped it in half and threw it in the trash can, disgusted by the way Yount had acted. In hindsight she’d now agree that wasn’t very bright.

While somewhat of a traumatic experience at the time, I get a good laugh retelling the story now and reminiscing about my father and the Orioles.

Needless to say we were escorted off the Memorial Stadium lot, and kindly asked to not return that day.

A new season brings hope. If my dad were still around, you can bet my phone would’ve rung yesterday after that 2-1 win. John would’ve been on the other end proclaiming, “this is the year” in his thick Baltimore accent.

I am a Red Sox fan, but there will always be a special place in my heart for the O’s.