My parents tried unsuccessfully for years to have a child. They were at the point that they were both entering their mid-thirties and they were exploring adoption when my brother was conceived. Then when he was only 5 months old, I was conceived. A couple years later my father was scheduled to have a vasectomy, but that plan was interrupted when he won a ticket lottery to get seats for the 1984 World Series (the Tigers were playing the Padres). He cancelled his appointment, got drunk, watched the Tigers win the series, and lo and behold, my sister was born the following July. Her middle name is Tiger Lilly (no joke) as a commemoration of one of the greatest teams in baseball history.
Made all the better because it's true! Everyone called her Tiger until she was about four years old. Around that age, she was finally conscious enough of the world that she requested we not call her that, instead preferring her given name. She didn't (nor did I) know what the meaning of Tiger was, but she knew that it wasn't a normal name.
Though I've never met the man, I immediately like your father. That 1984 team meant the world to 7 year old me.