HEYEN: New nickname dusts off great memories of a family's 'guardian'

I'm not sure how alone in this I am, but before Guardians was announced as a potential new name for the Indians, I'd never heard of the Guardians of Traffic statues in downtown Cleveland. But as the news came out Friday morning making it official, I thought about a different Cleveland guardian: my maternal grandfather, William Billik. Born on Christmas in 1926 as the youngest of seven, Grandpa Bill spent basically his whole life in northeast Ohio. He was a fan when Cleveland won its most recent World Series title, in 1948. He held onto his ticket stub from the opening game at then-Jacobs Field in 1994. And he brought me into a world of Cleveland baseball. For a number of years, Grandpa Bill collected Indians media guides, and more than a decade after his collection ended I'd walk into his study, pull one off the shelf and stare into the past through the likes of Einar Diaz and Charles Nagy and a baby-faced Manny Ramirez. That was nothing compared to the trips to the ballpark, though. On a few occasions, we went as "the four Bills" — grandpa, uncle, dad and me (our family's lack of creativity in boys' names is a column for another day). In those moments, it felt like the whole world might as well have been right there at Jacobs Field. Once, we sat in the right field seats and watched Ben Broussard nearly reach us with a home run before Ken Griffey Jr. went and robbed another. I have very few memories of my elementary school years, but I remember those trips to Cleveland games with Grandpa Bill. Being a guardian came naturally to Grandpa Bill. His wife, my grandmother, lived the last three decades of her life in a wheelchair after suffering a stroke, and Grandpa Bill was there for her until the day he died. His life was about family. Grandpa Bill came home from work, sat in his easy chair and called his mother, day after day. He coached my mom and her sister in softball and never forgot to bring scrunchies to keep the players' hair out of their eyes. He even once, while on vacation in Canada, drove aimlessly around unfamiliar territory just to try and find my mom a hot dog. It's been nearly a decade since Grandpa Bill left us, but I know he's still there, somewhere, looking out for me. And that's what the Guardians name should be about. Baseball, more than any other sport, embraces its history. But it's not just about Hank Aaron's 755 home runs or Joe DiMaggio's 56-game hitting streak. It's about our personal histories. You can pick your word for what your own baseball experience in Cleveland has been about — a guardian, an idol, a hero. Whatever the connection, I like to think the Cleveland Guardians aren't just about those statues on Hope Memorial Bridge. They can represent whoever we want, our personal guardians. So don't be upset at the new name. Don't stop supporting one of Cleveland's pride and joys. Instead, allow this announcement to bring you perspective on why you're a fan of this team in the first place. Maybe it's the person who brought you to the ballpark for the first time. Maybe it's a player who threw you a baseball at the end of an inning or signed his autograph before a game or had a batting stance you couldn't help but replicate in little league. Maybe it's about a friendship, a bond created over a hot dog and a beer. For me, it's my grandfather, a guardian in this life and beyond. When Cleveland played the Cubs in the 2016 World Series, my family thought about my grandfather and grandmother a lot. If they have TVs in the afterlife, my grandparents were surely yelling at the screen, rooting on their team. And a new name doesn't change anything. It's still their team. It's still Cleveland's team. There's now just a nice reminder of the guardians that have been there on our Cleveland baseball journey all along. When the Cleveland Guardians are playing, it'll help me remember that Grandpa Bill is watching, too.