SALT LAKE CITY — I can’t begin to tell you how many sporting events I’ve been fortunate to attend and cover as a sports writer for the Deseret News for the past 26 years.
Olympic hockey. NBA Finals. All-Star Games. BYU-Utah rivalry games. High school championships. Mitt Romney’s boxing debut. A bubble gum blowing contest. A powerlifting meet featuring a great grandma in her 90s.
Not to mention hundreds and hundreds of Utah Jazz games from Toronto to Miami to Honolulu to Detroit and back to all three different names of the Delta Center/EnergySolutions Arena/Vivint Smart Home Arena.
As much as I enjoy those sporting events, there’s nowhere this proud father would rather be than on the sideline for lacrosse games (our current love) that my three boys participate in, at my daughter’s volleyball games or at name-the-game with those four pieces of my heart.
My dad didn’t get paid to watch sports like his middle child (of five) does, but I’ll forever be grateful that he ingrained a deep love of sports in me. We probably spent more time doing sports stuff together than anything else.
With it being Father’s Day, my heart is full of fond memories of sports with my dad (and now with my kids). We loved watching college football together. Jazz games. NFL. Wrestling. He (and my saintly mom) patiently allowed me to tune into TBS almost daily to watch Dale Murphy and my Atlanta Braves on the one TV set in our home.
I remember going to a Jazz game at the Salt Palace that included an America concert after the game ended with my dad in the early 1980s. I bought tickets for my dad, my uncle and my sister to attend a 1997 NBA Finals game — the one that featured “The Pass” from John Stockton to Karl Malone.
Bad health plagued my dad as he got into his 40s and 50s — he passed away at age 57 — so instead of playing catch or attending games, we’d enjoy (or suffer) watching games together in our family’s front room. (He didn’t love the time my team lost and I stupidly lost my temper and kicked a hole in the wall. Years later, the poor patch job I then did on that wall is still there, hidden behind the curtains almost as a funny souvenir).
A love for sports is a gift I passed along to my kids — Ethan (the biggest sports nut), Sydney (who loves volleyball but doesn’t humor me quite as much with watching games with her old man now that she’s a teenager), Aidan (who likes to play sports but not necessarily watch them) and Jackson (who just goes with flow and wants to be with his older brothers and dad and like/do what we do).
If there’s one tough part about this sports writing gig, it’s when travel and bizarre hours take you away from your family. That was one reason why my editors and I thought it was time for me to be reassigned in 2017 after exclusively covering the Jazz for almost a decade. My kids needed me more than Jazz fans did.
I remember getting a phone call about my oldest son losing his first tooth while I was at the Atlanta airport before a Jazz-Hawks game. I cried. It was emotionally difficult to miss their birthdays (not actual birth days, that would’ve been really bad). It was also hard to be gone or unavailable on holidays, which reminds me of sitting at my kitchen table in pajamas from early in the morning on July 4, 2017, until late at night. I was chasing down the Gordon Hayward free agency story while my kids went on a fun hike and enjoyed other festivities.
But my unique job has also provided this dad a chance to give his kids some unique opportunities.
Like the time former Jazz coach Tyrone Corbin, a “tremendous” man (to borrow one of his oft-used adjectives), met my son at a practice. Ethan, then about 8, gave Corbin a wimpy fish handshake. Corbin laughed and took a moment to teach Ethan how to properly give a handshake: firm grip, direct eye contact and a friendly greeting.
Another time, I brought my three older kids with me as I interviewed Jazz players on a Thanksgiving morning. It warmed my heart when two players — guards Brandon Rush and John Lucas III — approached my kids sitting on the stands on their own. They shook my kids’ hands and asked a couple of questions, making them feel important. It was neat.
When Lucas asked them what their favorite pie was and if they’d ever tried pumpkin cheesecake, one of his favorites, they all said no. He couldn’t believe it. The next morning at shootaround — no kids this time — Lucas tracked me down. He’d brought each of them slices of pumpkin cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory.
I brought Ethan with me to a Donovan Mitchell camp that I was covering, and Spida came up and chatted with him for a minute. How awesome is that? It’s funny how small gestures and acts of kindness can be so meaningful for a sappy old dad and star-struck kid.
Before Hayward bolted for Boston, I was fortunate to take a drive around Indianapolis with his father, the other Gordon Hayward. He gave me details about a nice tradition they had called “Van Talk,” which basically consisted of dad taking copious notes about every game son played in and a postgame coaching session conversation. That started when the younger Hayward was a little boy in baseball — they talked in the van on the ride home — and continued into his NBA career. Dad watched each Jazz game from afar and sent No. 20 a slew of texts with observations.
My daughter had the time of her life with me when she was allowed to sit on media row next to me as I covered a BYU women’s volleyball game. My youngest son felt like he was on top of the world when I took him to Rice-Eccles Stadium to cover a high school football championship game on his birthday. (Yep, we spent a pretty penny at the concessions stand.) My middle son has wanted to play hockey ever since we all attended Utah Grizzlies games together. We’ve had fun attending Salt Lake Bees games, Utah Warrior rugby games, Monarchs soccer games and various levels of lacrosse together. Snacks on dad, of course.
I’ve also appreciated fathers who’ve taken time out of their schedules to coach my kids in various sports. They’ve all gone to great lengths to help my kids, which is a great way to win over this dad. My middle son’s lacrosse coach went so far as to make it a team goal to help him score a goal last year — and they went wild when that happened.
I know so many fathers and children out there have their own sweet sports stories.
There are few things in this life that bonds us together like sports do. Heck, my dad even loved me after I jumped on the Pittsburgh Steelers bandwagon while he continued to root for the Miami Dolphins back in the late 1970s.
So if anybody wonders, here’s what I want for my Father’s Day gift this year — sports to be taken off the sidelines. Fathers and their kids have some new magical moments to make.