For Love of The Game

Tonight is Highland's first girl's basketball game of the season.

 It is also the first game my dad isn't coaching in 17 years. 

Even though I can't be there in person it is almost like I can feel all the emotion that gym will be holding fom all the way out here in Ohio.

My dad felt so at home on the hardwood floors of the basketball court; and with good reason considering the time and sweat and stress he put into each practice, each camp, each game that took place on that second home of his.

Teaching and coaching his athletes the game of basketball was important to him, but I know that teaching them about life was what really mattered.

Because basketball was so infused into my dad's life, it was also infused into ours.

When we were younger we would take coloring books and toys to help pass the time.  Sometimes we would explore beneath the bleachers, hoping to find some treasure that had long been forgotten after falling into that deep abyss of candy wrappers and dust bunnies.

As we got older we were roped into helping out by standing in for absent game videographers.

At first the it was exciting, but it eventually became the dreaded job- to have to stand at the top of the bleachers and try to keep the basketball in the video camera view finder for what seemed like four very long quarters of basketball.

Personally, I didn't mind too much as I quicly learned to use the camera to my advantage during time outs and half times and zoom in on the beautiful, popular cheerleaders I hoped to one day become.

I like to think that creepy, spy inspired behavior helped me make the squad later in life.

On the nights the team played we knew that when we got to the school for the game it wasn't the time to run up to dad and tell him about our day.  Instead we would take our unofficial seats at the far end of the gym and cheer loudly from the stands.  After the game was over we would  wait patiently for the coach to emerge from the locker room, speak to a reporter or two, and the head over and give mom a kiss.  It was then that we could share with Dad the activities of the day, our excitement about the win, or give our condolences regarding the loss.

Even though I wasn't much of an athlete myself, Dad always let me join him at the camps he would put on for aspiring young ballers.  I always had fun learning how to dribble, playing lightning, and earning my free basketball (that I probably could have come away with regardless), but most of all I loved letting everyone know that the coach was my dad.

Once I entered high school I started cheering on my dad's teams from the sidelines as a cheerleader. 

Being the liaison between Coach Hansen and the cheerleaders sometimes caused a little bit of stress in my life, but I loved having that extra connection when cheering at games.

Later, long after the game was over and I had returned home by curfew (of course), I would sit and watch film with my dad.  I would listen to his frustrations about the fact that a player or two still couldn't execute a play after hours and hours of practice and yet after watching twenty minutes of film I could tell him exactly what they should have done instead.

Trips to Boise and the state basketball tournament hold so many special memories. 

When we were little it meant a stay in a hotel and free chocolate milk from the tournament's dairy association sponsor.

When we were older it meant we could be proud of how well Dad's team was doing and we understood how happy he was to be there.

So tonight I am thankful for basketball.

Basketball helped make my dad into the person he was, which in turn made me and my siblings the people we are today.

My childhood is shaped by memories of loud gymnasiums, late night sports reports on the news, and roaming the halls of Highland when the game just couldn't hold my interest any longer.  And the truth is, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Tonight before the game starts they will be honoring Dad.

Honoring the wonderful coach he was, but more importantly the wonderful person he was.

(There was also a nice article written in our local newspaper that you can check out here.)

I am sad I can't be there tonight to cheer for both Dad and those Lady Rams, but I have no doubt that someone else will be there.

Dad will be there cheering as loud as he can, probably shaking his head a few times, and, of course, thinking that the girl's hair looks nice :)

Go Rams!