FOR THE LOVE OF THE GAME: STRIKES, BALLS, BOYS AND DADS

Baseball is about many things.

It's about history.

It's about grass infields and hot dogs, peanuts and cracker jacks.

It's about triple plays and no-hitters, 70 homers and 3,000 hits.

But perhaps more than anything, baseball is about fathers and sons.

Of course, fathers and sons -- or daughters, for that matter -- don't need baseball to have a close relationship. There are countless other common threads which can bring parents and children closer, whether it be electric trains, model airplanes, horses, tractors, 55 Chevys or whatever.

But to me, there's nothing like baseball.

And I have a feeling that Wes and Etson Steele feel the same way.

If you've been paying attention to the local high school baseball scene over the past few weeks, you already know the story.

In the most exciting high school baseball game I've ever had the privilege of covering, Wes whacked a first-pitch fastball for a double to score the tying and winning runs with two outs in the bottom of the seventh, snatching Notre Dame's season as it teetered on the edge of a season-ending abyss. The Bulldogs ended up beating South Pemiscot 4-3 in the sectional game, which was played -- wouldn't you know it -- in Steele, Mo.

And as you also may know, Wes had just found out two days before that his father, Etson, had been diagnosed with leukemia.

After Wes' teammates hoisted him -- then piled on top of him -- the junior third baseman found his father down the first-base line and the two embraced like there was no tomorrow.

Soon after talking to South Pemiscot's coach, I made my way across the infield and saw the Steeles during their tender moment.

At the time, I had no clue of Etson's condition. But even the least perceptive spectator could tell there was a bond between father and son.

It was magic.

And, in retrospect, it was as if Abner Doubleday created the national pastime for that one specific moment.

Right there on that right-field line, Wes told Etson, "It's going to be OK Dad. This one's for you and I love you."

It's impossible to imagine what emotions were flowing through the hearts of the Steeles, including Mrs. Jane Steele and Wes' sister, Kelsey.

Jubilation. Despair. Love.

They must have been overwhelmed.

Etson, who will probably need a bone-marrow transplant in the future and has already lost his father and a nephew to the disease, said that moment was one he'll never forget.

And now that I know the circumstances behind that hug, it is a picture, I too, will remember forever.

Though I've never had such an emotional moment with my father on the ball field, some of my favorite times as a youngster involved playing baseball with my dad.

With Father's Day coming up in 10 days, I recall my dad hitting me grounders in the bumpiest backyard in the neighborhood. By the time I got on the baseball field, there wasn't a bad hop I couldn't handle -- or at least get my chest in front of. It's no wonder I ended up being a catcher.

One time, we went to the park and he was hitting me fly balls. One fly ball soared too close to a light post and I ran smack into it and about knocked myself out. Now I laugh about it.

My dad even coached a couple of my little league teams when I had aspirations of being the next Ozzie Smith.

Now, I have the ambition to be a great sports writer, not a great shortstop. But I know that no matter what I choose to do with my life, Dad will support me.

Thanks, Dad.

Dad and I have a close relationship and now that I have a son, I hope that someday he'll look up to me like I look up to my father and how Wes looks up to his.

And knowing how special a father/son relationship can be, I only wish the best for the Steele family.

When I asked Etson if he would answer a few of my questions regarding his condition back on May 28, the 43-year-old obliged, later saying "the more people who know about my condition, the more people I'll have praying for me."

I'm praying for you, Etson.

And have a Happy Father's Day.

Bob Miller is a sports writer for the Southeast Missourian.