My dad passed away on November 9, 2011, from throat cancer that spread to his liver. (No, he was not a smoker…ironically, he was a health nut.) Good people sometimes suffer terrible things. He grew to accept that and to help the rest of us accept it, too.

But this blog isn’t about my dad’s death…directly. It’s about basketball…sort of.

I’ll admit it: I’ve always been a fair-weather basketball fan. I cheer for the Cats when we’re hot, I root for the Hawks when we we’re not, and there are years I hardly pay attention. Most years, my attention wanes until late February, when I join the community in cheering for the home team until they get knocked out of the tournament. Then life goes on.

But not this year.

My dad was a star high school athlete, both on the basketball court and in track. (He always joked he was the fastest white guy to graduate from a Kansas City, Kansas, high school. And for a man who was 5’7” on a good day, he probably was.) In college at K-State, he served as a basketball manager under Cotton Fitzsimmons. His first job was as a physical education teacher and coach at Lucky High School. He later made his living for many years as a golf professional and coach. While he had many interests in his life, sports were a lifelong passion.

As a child, my strongest memories of my father have to do with watching sports. I remember going to Ahearn Field House as a child, sitting in the nosebleeds, feeling the balcony shake with the energy of cheering fans. I specifically remember him taking us to see K-State play Indiana, when Bobby Knight was a coach known for throwing chairs and getting slapped with technical fouls just to get the crowd in the game.

Sometime in the mid-1980s, I remember my dad impulsively deciding we needed to go to Kemper Arena when K-State advanced to play KU in the title Big 8 tournament game. We bought tickets from a scalper on a downtown Kansas City street corner, and my brother and I felt like we were doing something really bad! I also remember watching as a family when KU went all the way in 1988…beating K-State in the tournament to do it. That was exciting stuff!

Our family sports viewing wasn’t limited to K-State. I remember the year the Boston Celtics played the LA Lakers (with Larry Bird and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) in the 1985 NBA finals. (My dad rigged the TV set to work on our back deck to make the seven-game series more enjoyable to watch in June.) That same year, I also remember cheering for the KC Royals with my dad when they won the World Series. Those are the only times in my life I really paid attention to the NBA or MLB, but I did so because they were events my dad was excited about — and we watched them together.

Watching a game with Dad wasn’t a passive form of recreation. He jumped up and down, slapped his leg, yelled at the refs, and laughed. You couldn’t help but get sucked in by his enthusiasm. Along the way, he always took the time to explain the strategy behind the coach’s decision or the ref’s call. With each teachable moment, he tried to make my brother and me understand both the game and the life lessons that went along with it.

Whether we were walking in to K-State football games for free at halftime, or he was coaching me to compete at State in high school golf, sports were the frame for our relationship. Even as an adult, when K-State played in an especially exciting game, I often called dad at halftime or the conclusion, just to recap. I always knew he’d be watching, too.

Now, he’s been gone for three months. During this time, I’ve found myself cheering for the Cats more than ever. I’ve watched almost every televised game since Christmas, forcing my kids to watch with me, even though at first they complained. (However, after repeated exposure, I’m finally instilling some curiosity in them about the game I was brought up to love. In fact, it was my daughter who reminded me last Saturday to turn the game on!)

It took until last week’s wins over Baylor and Missouri for me to realize that basketball has become the core of my grieving process. Every game, I want to reach out and touch my dad. And I have to remind myself that I can’t just pick up the phone and dissect this week’s game with him. The entire experience has been bittersweet.

So, K-State, good luck in the postseason! You are a young team, and with your youth, you bring along an inconsistency that always keep us guessing. And that makes it fun to watch (and a little nerve-racking sometimes).

While I don’t want to put any extra pressure on you, be aware that basketball is about more than getting the ball into the bucket. The tradition surrounding the game connects people in more ways than you can imagine. Play hard, have fun, and be proud of that legacy, knowing you’ve got a great base of fans cheering for you…including at least one who I know is watching intently from heaven.