I love minor-league baseball. The combination of genuine athletic excellence, relentless amusement, unabashed silliness, and low-stakes competition make for the perfect way to spend an afternoon at the ballpark.
On Father’s Day, my family spent the day at Dunkin Donuts Field, home of the Hartford Yard Goats. The home team was engaged in a pitching duel with their rival, the Akron Rubber Ducks.
The day was spectacular in almost every way except for one:
The wrong story was being told throughout the game.
The public address announcer frequently referenced Father’s Day between innings and after the game as my son, Charlie, and I ran the bases alongside hundreds of other fathers and sons. Mentioning Father’s Day made sense and would have been lovely, except the story being told made no sense.
At least to me.
The public address announcer said things like:
“Remember the two things dads want more than anything else today: A cold beer and a place to kick back and relax.”
“As you run the bases today, dads, you can feel good about yourself. You’re finally getting in a little bit of exercise this week. But don’t overdo it! Those bases are a whopping 90 feet apart!”
“Grab yourself a cold one, dads, and make this afternoon at the ballpark perfect.”
None of this spoke to me.
I’m sure that many fathers enjoy beer.
It’s also true that some rarely exercise.
And yes, some fathers certainly think relaxing is the perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
Those particular fathers were being told the right story that day.
But I suspect the world is filled with a multitude of less stereotypical fathers, too—those who don’t conform to the fathers we’ve watched on television for decades.
I exercise every day.
I haven’t consumed a beer in more than thirty years and barely drink any alcohol today.
I’d much prefer to spend a Sunday afternoon playing catch with Charlie, taking a bike ride, playing golf, or seeing a movie with friends and family. Relaxing is lovely for some, but my ideal day is filled with activity.
Relaxing is not something I enjoy.
On this particular day, after the game, we left the stadium and went to a bookstore, followed by a stop at one of our favorite ice cream shops. Then Charlie and I played nine holes of golf. Later, I rode my bike before watching a movie with Clara and Elysha and finishing the day writing.
Yes, I’m sure some fathers took a nap. Others probably put their feet up and read a book. Basked in the glory of a sunset. Listened to their kids run around in the backyard. Watched TV.
Bully for them, I say, but that all sounds awful to me. And I know I’m not alone.
Most of my friends exercise regularly. At least a few barely drink or don’t drink alcohol at all anymore. Many are like me, striving to fill their days with activity. Like me, they would prefer to go places and do things.
Cold beers, afternoon naps, and avoiding exercise are not something any of them desire.
When we tell stories to our customers, we need to ensure that all customers feel spoken to. Everyone needs to feel like they, too, are part of the story. Therefore, we must carve out spaces for as many types of people as possible. We must find ways to reach the masses, recognizing that the masses contain multitudes.
The Yard Goats chose to lean on the ancient, overdone stereotypes of beleaguered, bedraggled fathers who would want to drink beer, sit still, and avoid movement whenever possible.
Those people surely exist and to each his own, but I suspect the world is more nuanced today.
More diverse.
Maybe even better.
Tell those stories, and people like me will feel like we are part of the story.
