Orion Kerkering's Dad Overwhelmed with Tears at Son's 'Unbelievable' Debut

The father of a Philadelphia Phillies player cried when he saw his son pitch in his major-league debut.

The morning after the baseball world witnessed Todd Kerkering shedding tears, he received several texts from his former Marine comrades. "Yeah," Kerkering replied, "you saw me cry like a baby." It was a beautiful moment—a father overwhelmed with pride for his son, whose remarkable six-month journey had taken him from the Florida State League to the major leagues. Orion Kerkering lives by a mantra. He believes he is here for a reason.

Todd, a recon Marine and sniper during his 20-year tenure in the Marine Corps, couldn't explain why he cried. He cried when Orion called him last week to share his dream come true. At that moment, Todd was concerned. As the emergency manager for Sarasota, Fla., he was dealing with flooding caused by Hurricane Idalia.

"When will you pitch?" Todd asked.

"I don't know," Orion replied. "I could pitch tonight, I guess."

"I can't be there tonight, dude," Todd said. "There's no way."

And that was okay. Orion didn't pitch on Friday—the game was too close. The same went for Saturday. By then, Todd was at Citizens Bank Park, where he got to embrace his son, now a major leaguer. And on Sunday night, he sat in the stands, witnessing Orion's pitching debut. Todd saw how the fans gave him a standing ovation as the esteemed Dan Baker announced that it was Orion's first game in the major leagues. Todd couldn't help but cry as his 22-year-old son struck out two batters with his slider in his first inning with the Phillies.

"I guess it was just seeing the kid," Todd, who is 59, said on Monday morning. "I don't know. I've seen a lot of good things. I've seen a lot of ugly things in my life. I guess maybe it's a culmination of all those things through life, and you finally reach a point when you get to something that is just unbelievable. I mean, there are 900 guys roughly in the MLB right now at that level. And he's one of them. You know? I mean, I don't know. It's just what came out."

He scrolled through the text messages from his Marine friends. They knew Todd, and some of them knew Orion. They understood.

"I got tears in my eyes, too," one of them told him. "Don't worry."

Two months ago, Todd attended a Little League tournament in Sarasota. He watched as some kids entered the dugout and slammed their bats out of frustration because their parents were shouting too much. They couldn't focus—the pressure was too intense.

"I always told Orion when he was young," Todd said, "some kids quit when they're 10, and some kids get to quit when they're 40. You pick. You have fun."

There was only one rule.

"You have to put in that work," Todd said. "And he put in the work. I told him, 'Whatever you do, just be the best at it. Go have fun with whatever you do in life. You want to be the best plumber? Be the best plumber. You want to be the best doctor? Just work hard and enjoy what you do.' I guess it was just a lot of emotion coming out that way. Just seeing him."

Seeing him be one of the best. When Orion began the season in Low-A Clearwater, he could text Todd in the afternoon to let him know if he was pitching that night. After work, Todd would drive to the Phillies complex. He wasn't surprised when the Phillies promoted Orion to High-A Jersey Shore in May. He watched the games online and saw how Orion continued to dominate. In June, Orion called his dad to inform him that he was going to Double-A Reading.

"Then," Todd said, "I'm like, 'Oh, wow. Okay, kid.' This is just awesome, you know?"

Todd knew his son was a talented player when he was in high school. Orion abandoned the curveball he used to throw and developed the slider he uses now. He gained strength, velocity, and confidence. He played for the Florida Burn, a prominent travel ball program, and one of his teammates was Braden Halladay. Roy Halladay, Braden's father, served as a volunteer pitching coach. While Orion played for the Burn, he would sometimes ignore his catcher's signals and throw the pitches he wanted. A coach from the Burn suggested to Todd that this might not sit well with Orion's high school coach once he left the travel team.

"What does Roy say?" Todd asked.

"He doesn't care," the coach replied. "He wants him to throw with conviction. If he wants to shake off the signals, he can."

Last week, when Orion received his promotion to the majors, a Florida Burn coach named Josh Sinabaldi texted Todd to congratulate him.

"He told me that after one of the first bullpens that Orion threw with Roy, Roy said he would make it to the majors," Todd said. "But they never told me that. And I'm good with that. I'm good."

As the Phillies pushed Orion this year, they did so not only based on his numbers or his stuff but also his mindset. They were impressed by how Orion handled various challenges.

Todd believed it was crucial for his son to have control over his own life. Some Little League coaches wanted 9-year-old Orion to play with the 12-year-olds. He could have done it.

"Do you want to stay here, play every inning of every game, or go up and do one at-bat and six outs?" Todd asked.

"The coaches were mad because I wouldn't let him go up. I'm like, 'It's his call at 9. Not mine.'"

Orion and his father developed a strong bond. He was the first person Orion called last week once he found out he was going to the majors.

"He's been crying ever since I told him," Orion said during the NBC Sports Philadelphia broadcast on Sunday night. "He was tearing up at work. I felt bad. But I started tearing up when I told him. I think I started crying more there when I told him I got the call. Just trying to see it from his reaction made me happy."

Over the years, Orion spent time with some of Todd's Marine friends. "He sees us," Todd said. "He hears the stories. He knows some of the mental toughness. And it was nothing that I pushed on him." Orion was not required to address his dad as "sir"—that was too strict.

"He's got a strong mental toughness," Todd said. "I'm not going to say it's because of me. He's been around a lot of good guys with good mental toughness in his life."

And as Todd watched his son appear tough on the big-league mound Sunday night, he cried. He wanted Orion to forge his own path. No one could have predicted this particular journey—from Low A to the majors in just six months. Orion has downplayed it all. His father's words provide an explanation.

"I've never tried to make," Todd said. "I just tried to show."

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