A Tribute to Tim Russert

By Matt Himelfarb
Posted Sunday, June 15, 2008

Editor's Note: While this might seem an odd subject for a Mets' Website, I think you'll find Matt has crushed one out of the park with this touching and well-written piece — which gives all of us the chance to say Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there this Sunday morning.—MM

Well, another Father’s day has come on our way, and I thought I would dedicate today’s column, befittingly, to none other than Meet the Press anchor and longtime baseball fan Tim Russert, who passed away on Friday.

From watching the truly depressing coverage of his death over the last day or so, I am aware that one of the consequences (or causes, depending on your opinion), of our obsession with celebrities is that we tend to romanticize celebrities and politicians for doing the little deeds that would otherwise deem people like you and me to be socially unattractive to say the least. You know, how Jon Bon Jovi is now an eco-friendly Jersey boy closer to the Clintons than Oprah is closer to the White House lawn now for playing at Live Earth and, subsequently leaving the event via helicopter en route to a part in the Hamptons; or how the commentators at Fox news majored in being pretty.

And Tim would be the first tell you he was far from perfect. Always one to let the viewers decide upon his performance, he was always quick to admit that his dad- better known as “Big Russ”- was always there to praise and at times vituperate him when it was necessary.

In the short time I spent watching Russert, even I, with my dad’s guidance of course, picked up on Tim’s successes and failures when it came to interviewing people, whether it be failing to ask a presidential candidate the right questions or slamming a former mayor for his shady connections. But most importantly, all of that seemed to go back to my dad’s advice that, no matter how hard I tended to strive at being perfect in a new environment, whether it be a new writing gig or a new year at school, every new step was a learning experience whether you were a teenager with pimples or a grizzled veteran of your profession, and, “all you can do is learn from it.”

As I consistent writer for FU now, I realize how much, in such a small way, I have taken after Tim’s extraordinary journalism skills. Whenever I am interviewing or far more often having a conversation with a fellow writer or member of the mainstream media or writing a column about either, I always tend to look at their past work and quotes as a means of dissecting their reasoning or motives, as Tim made a living doing in the simplest way crafted. At the same time, from watching some old footage of Meet the Press over the last day or so, I realize my folly in being quick to hear a response or criticize them without giving them a full chance to reply. All of which, regrettably so, I have been numb to over the past year or so, and mostly only realize now.

I distinctly remember when my dad suggested I read the chapter “Baseball” in his aptly titled bestseller “Big Russ and Me” a few years ago. At the same, I was extremely young and had zero inkling of Tim’s stature in the media and in the political universe. Yet, even than, it seemed as though Tim captured the enormity of so many other father-son memories when it came to America’s pastime that it almost seemed pointless attempting to do so ourselves.

For instance, at one particular point in that segment of the book, when a young Tim attended a Yankees-Indians game many years ago at the old Municipal Stadium, the Yankees catcher at the time refused to sign autographs for anyone during batting practice, despite constant pleas to do so. When Tim told a middle-aged gentleman sitting near him and his blatantly exhausted dad of the incident, the man waited until the catcher struck at in an at-bat later in the game, when he stood up and shouted, “That’s what you get for not signing a ball for a kid!”

Little did I know, when me and my dad were attending a Mets-Diamondbacks game on Memorial Day at Shea Stadium a few months afterwards, Troy Glaus not only refused to sign autographs for anyone during batting practice, but actually quieted down me and other fans constant reminder by promising to come over and eventually made good on his promise, something he arrogantly avoided. When batting practice finally ended for the visiting D-Backs about twenty minutes or so before first pitch, I remember running up to my dad nestled in his seat and detailing in my eleven year-old gibberish. After staying curiously quiet about the encounter for most of the game, Glaus struck out swinging on a pitch in the dirt sometime in the latter inning, to which my dad, always the respectful fan who never shouted at Shea or pretended to roam around Citizens Bank Park in Philly with pom-poms after a Mets win, in a somewhat bittersweet moment, got out of his sit and hollered the exact same phrase as the fan at old Municipal Stadium as Glaus walked back towards the dugout. It is only now that I completely appreciate how my dad felt such an intimate connection to the book and the almost “religious experience”, as Tim himself described a father-son trip to a ballgame, and perhaps even more incredibly his memory after working another ten-to-six night shift as an electrician for the New York Times.

As I stated before, like so many other things, I am usually numb to realize the sacrifices and contributions my dad has me during my life, even during fathers day. I can say right now, however, that passing on two traditions- watching Meet the Press while enjoying breakfast, as well as Mets baseball, the only thing that has stayed so consistent in my life- are both traditions firmly installed in me that would not be possible without him.

Look, I am not going to sit here and try and respectfully honor Tim’s legacy by saying that he defined objectivity and spin tails of valor and hope and how the world will never be the same again. That we must now tell all our kids to sell their bicycles and video games (oops) and sell all their belonging like the stock market has crashed again or else all good in this world has been replaced by pessimists like me. Life goes on, as I would expect him to say as much as I hear my dad say it, and I feel comfortably paying tribute to him by showing appreciation for the true qualities that him such a lovable person; his humbleness, discipline, hard-working manner, sense of humor, and most of all, that immeasurable ability to connect with ordinary people such as me and my dad.

Still, the column that I have been meaning to write for over a year now I have finally been able to put into words to the best of my ability. I only wish I could have done so when he was still alive.

You can contact matt at: matthimelfarb@gmail.com and check out his blog.