My father, who passed away late last year, had many beliefs. Punctuality is next to godliness. Good pitching beats good hitting. Never let the truth interfere with a good story. But from a wardrobe standpoint, he believed most fervently in one thing: the sportcoat. Even though he was a top-flight executive in the sports world for half a century, he never owned a suit in his adult life. When the family packed up my parents (who'd both recently turned 80) to move to their more modest cluster home, my sisters got my dad to pare down his collection of sportcoats to 35. Why did he love sportcoats? Whether they’re two-button or three, center vent or side, whether they are technically blazers (the more nautical, solid-colored, shiny-buttoned cousin of the sportcoat), he knew they forgave a multitude of sins. My dad was often in the air 100 days in the course of a year, and he knew that their patterns help hide the telltale signs of travel: the wrinkles, the dust and dirt of the road. Sportcoats also give us shoulders, and taper whether we have them or not. Buttoning the jacket creates a pleasing “V” shape on our torsos. I learned many things from my dad about baseball, and work, and life. And, when I reach for one of my many sportcoats, I always think of him.
