Sports Talk: Old Navy was an ace of a hero

My favorite pitcher isn’t going to be available next season. Someone who graced the mounds at Petco Park, Dodger Stadium, Angel Stadium and Coors Field won’t be warming up.

That someone was my father, Jack Paris, a gem of a man who sparkled on any diamond. He passed away peacefully at age 93, and his service on Thursday was a grand sendoff.

Because of who he was and what he stood for, he was asked to toe the rubber before four big league games, which made his son big-time proud.

The first-pitch honors were his on four occasions, and every one of them came with goose bumps and appreciation. Known to most as Old Navy, the right-handed Paris was an ace to everyone he met.

Old Navy was a World War II Navy veteran, one of those studs that were part of the greatest generation. He fought for his country, raised a family and was never shy about lending a hand to help someone up or to pat them on the back.

He was also the greatest dad a son could ever have, and why I was chosen to win that lottery remains a mystery.

But Old Navy was certain that he loved America and to see him stand tall during the national anthem improved everyone’s posture.

When you had a front-row seat to history, like Old Navy did while in Tokyo Bay at 18 for the World War II surrender ceremony while aboard the USS Colorado, which was tied to the USS Missouri, you’d have a soft spot for the USA, too.

Old Navy was anything but hard to get along with. Nothing seemed to faze him, whether he was visiting with neighbors or people that were well known. His motto was that he was just as good as anyone, but no better than anyone.

Boot camp in San Diego didn’t get the best of him and just maybe it was the other way around. Instead of taking his weekend leaves, he stayed behind to learn radar techniques on a ship and that was how he wanted to contribute to Uncle Sam’s effort.

But when being assigned to the USS Colorado, a commanding officer instead pointed him toward the big guns hugging the ship’s sides. He would load them during battles, which was a far cry from reading a radar screen.

Old Navy didn’t revolt or grumble. He put his head down, did his job and helped in his own way, which was anyway the commanding officer saw fit.

When Kamikazes struck the USS Colorado off the coast of Japan, a sailor filling the same role as Old Navy on the USS Colorado’s opposite side was struck and killed. That could have easily been Old Navy and he never forgot that he was spared.

Old Navy was often referred to as a hero, but he knew, like all of those brave men and women in the military recognize, that the real heroes are the ones who don’t come back alive.

The lessons Old Navy would teach me were simple: be yourself, find your passion and follow it.

Old Navy played trumpet in numerous bands and directed the choir at our church. He would have loved for me to follow in his musical footsteps, but I was into sports.

My brief stint of taking piano lessons didn’t really take, as I always groused about missing batting practice instead of being worried about hitting the right keys.

I did a pretty good rendition of “Chopsticks,” but Old Navy knew when to put a fork in my musical endeavor. He saw that I preferred playing whatever sport was in season, and he let a kid chose his path instead of the other way around.

It’ll be tough navigating the next baseball season without Old Navy, as we never missed an opening day.

It’ll be difficult seeing managers Dave Roberts, Bud Black, Mike Scioscia and others in baseball, from the majors to Encinitas Little League, who never failed to ask how Old Navy was doing.

But Old Navy will still be with me whenever I hear the national anthem, or for that matter, “Chopsticks.”

Anchors aweigh, Old Navy. I can’t wait to see your next first pitch, wherever that may be.