Timely tribute for splendid record

Going out to dinner with my father, be it with friends or relatives, always brings out his surefire response when the check comes: "You get next time."

A blue-collar New Englander born and raised in Boston who spent most of his adult life driving street cars and buses for the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority, John D. Lee never, ever lets me pick up the tab. Or anyone else in the family, for that matter.

Next time simply never came.

But next time officially arrived in mid January when I ordered tickets for the 10th annual induction ceremony on Sunday at the Ted Williams Museum and Hitters Hall of Fame.

By the time this column is printed, my father will be surprised, and probably feign being upset, upon learning I deviously planned a trip to see the hallowed grounds of his idol: Teddy Ballgame, the Splendid Splinter and the Kid as my father has affectionately called him over the years.

I'll just smile on the long drive north from Tampa, knowing that I finally got him and got him good.

In recent years, as expansion created jobs for second-rate ballplayers -- in John Lee's opinion, anyway -- and watered down his favorite game, I've listened to my father extol the virtues of the man he considers the greatest player who ever lived.

Because he became a war hero as a pilot in the midst of a 19-year career (Williams missed five years due to military obligations), Williams is someone my father views as a great man as well.

For God and country, you know.

That's why this payback is oh, so sweet.

Surprising my father with a trip to Citrus County for this historic occasion -- after all, one can only be named posthumously to his own hall once -- is "the next time" I have waited a lifetime for.

Last year, my father, who with my mother, Carol, vacations in Clearwater Beach in January and February, and I visited the museum, but that trip pales in comparison to these ceremonies.

Although the inductees feature Pete Rose, Tony Gwynn, Wade Boggs and Williams' former teammate, Red Sox centerfielder Dom DiMaggio, something tells me my father will remember Teddy Ballgame's induction more than the others.

Listening to stories about my father's trips to Fenway Park, where in his youth he watched Williams patrol left field at the base of the Green Monster, was the highlight of last year's visit. Knowing what this trip means to him likely will leave me teary-eyed at some point.

Witnessing my idol attending such a tribute to his idol, and the accompanying accolades from a handful of speakers including Red Sox shortstop Nomar Garciaparra will be something I'll never forget.

We'll be especially interested in what Garciaparra has to say. Williams occasionally worked with the 2000 batting champion, who did not hide his admiration for the greatest hitter in Red Sox history and was visibly shaken upon learning of his death on July 5.

A career .344 hitter with 521 home runs who won six batting titles and two Triple Crowns, Williams was the epitome of a team player for my dad.

Those numbers have rolled off the tongue of my father for years, and I never tire of hearing his retold stories.

Just as I enjoy him recounting how Williams refused to sit out a doubleheader on the final day of 1941 despite an average that rounded up to .400. Williams went 4-for-6 and upped his average to .406, becoming the last big leaguer to hit .400.

One award I know my father, a former Marine, will especially admire is the inaugural Ted Williams Military Achievement Award.

I can't wait to see his reaction to the winner of that one.

Here's to Ted, dad.

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