When I was a little girl, my dad would take me to see the Cleveland Indians play in Municipal Stadium.The Tribe wasn’t very good back then but my dad didn’t care because he was a loyal fan.I didn’t care either because I got to spend some quality father-daughter time with him.There was nothing better than being away from my “eat your vegetables” mother while being allowed to stuff myself with hot dogs, popcorn, candy and pop.(Yes, that’s what soda is called in the Midwest).

I remember watching Dennis Eckersley, Buddy Bell and Chris Chambliss who, once they left Cleveland, went on to do spectacular things with other teams.I remember the sense of pride I felt when Cleveland named Frank Robinson was their Manager---making him the first African-American manager in the major leagues.

Sadly, my dad never got to see his favorite team have a winning season since he died in the early 80s.But his favorite baby boomer daughter is carrying on the tradition of being a loyal fan.Even though I’ve lived in or near better baseball towns like Boston and Atlanta, my heart remains with Cleveland.

In 1997, I still celebrated even though the Tribe became the first team to lose the World Series after carrying the lead into the bottom of the ninth inning of the seventh game.

Today, I’m celebrating again as the American League Central Division Champions beat the "favorite" New York Yankees and are now making their run towards the World Series against the Boston Red Sox.

Boy, how I wish my dad were alive to take me out to the ball game.