A Grip on Sports: Looking back, being a sports father wasn’t the hardest part of the job but held as many memories, good and bad, as any other aspect

A GRIP ON SPORTS • One of the drawbacks of being a Grippi is getting from Point A to Point B takes a while. Slow doesn’t begin to describe it. Which is why one of favorite baseball memories as a dad involves a 180-foot sprint for the eldest of our two boys. We want to share that memory on this Father’s Day, along with a few more. Call it reminiscing if you will. We are fine with it.

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• We coached our boys often as they grew up.

Baseball, basketball, football, we were there for them as much as we could be. Heck, we were there so often we were even asked to fill in for absent umpires in a middle school rivalry game – and a high school non-league matchup. But those two days are nowhere to be found on our happiest-days-to-be-sports-dad list.

Though one evening in Colfax certainly is.

Our eldest, Tyler, was on second base. In a tied American Legion game. Late. His dad was coaching third base. Two outs.

We did what we always did, reminding the base runner – son or otherwise – of the situation, encouraging a strong secondary lead and letting him know where the shortstop and second baseman were. Then we watched the pitch.

It was in the dirt. Took a wild bounce off the catcher. Towards the far-away backstop. Tyler did what he was supposed to do. Got a great secondary lead, took off when the ball caromed funny and sprinted as fast as he could. With his head up. Dad, aka the third-base coach? He was watching the ball. Saw that the catcher was frantically searching for it in the wrong spot. Realized no one was helping him. And just kept windmilling his left arm.

Tyler was surprised. He said so later. But he just kept going. As fast as he could. By the time the catcher found the ball, retrieved it and threw it towards home plate, it was too late. Tyler had scored what turned out to be the winning run.

Why is that one of my favorite baseball dad memories? Mainly because of trust. There are few things better for a dad (or a coach, or a coach/dad) than to have the trust of his son (or daughter). As an athlete. As a person. There was a chance, maybe a decent one, that he would be thrown out at the plate. Be embarrassed. Felt like he let the team down. But he trusted us. And that is priceless.

Just like so many sports memories throughout the years. Moments like standing on a par-3 tee at Jack Nicklaus’ course in Anaconda, Montana, with water way off to the right. One of us saying “Don’t worry about the water, it’s not in play.” The other answering quite abruptly, with a tone betraying their annoyance, “I know.” And then proceeding to banana-slice a 6-iron into the lake.

Not going to say who was whom in this story because we have too much respect for our family traditions. But we will share that after a couple of mean looks back and forth, we laughed our (you know the plural word to insert here) off.

Not every dad and son sports memory involve laughter, sure. But so many of them do. And other emotions too. Joy. Hope. Pride. Anguish. A range, right? All part of the bond built between a father and his offspring.

The time our youngest, Jack, decided to longboard down Browne’s Mountain alone. (If you don’t think longboarding is a sport, try it. It is.) Hit some gravel. Took a spill at more than 30 miles per hour. His helmet flew off as he hit the asphalt. Split his head on the curb. His first thought? Get home. Dad will know what to do.

Ya, sure. Blood everywhere. A trying-not-look-panicked dad grabbed a towel. Put it on the flapping scalp that looked like something out of “Saving Private Ryan.” Wrapped his son in blanket, stuffed him into the front seat and drove to the hospital as fast as possible.

Jack survived. With a scar on the back of his head. Just like he survived other blows, physical and emotionally, from sports.

There’s the day we arrived at his junior varsity football game at U-Hi a little late, only to see an ambulance on the field. Yes, they were wheeling off our son, strapped to a board after a late hit had left him unable to move.

Terror rode with us to Sacred Heart once again.

Jack survived the stinger. The scar from that is not visible for us to see, but his neck still causes him issues some 20 years later. His love of football never wavered. At least not in high school. We tried to be there when we could. Sometimes, when Jack was a high school senior, we were there not just as dad but in another capacity. We had to cover his games. It was our job. We’re pretty sure he doesn’t know this, but we lived in terror he would make a bad snap or something and we would have to mention it in a story.

He never did. And for that we have always felt gratitude.

Neither son was a star in high school. They enjoyed their sporting careers, sure, but those careers didn’t reach their expectations. We commiserated with them. Understood. And wished we could have done more to help – all the while hoping they understood the lessons they were learning were just as important as the ones the stars absorbed. Maybe more so.

And they have plenty of great memories, which come up from time to time in conversation. From winning championships in grade school to hitting home runs in middle school and high school to sitting in a dugout over all those years sharing lies with their teammates.

Throughout their formative years, sports were always a teammate with their mother and father in the growth process.

We wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

It’s the memories built with them that mattered. A hot day in the Valley, as the eldest played coach-pitch with children of his dad’s friends. Dad pitching. Trying his darndest to hit the bat. That’s a memory we’ll always have. Or the youngest, tagging along to out-of-town basketball tournament and being stuffed into a locker by his friend, who would grow up to be a UW football lineman. Dad having to leave the bench to find him and release him. Another one.

Standing on the sidelines while the eldest played goalkeeper in select soccer, apprehensive whenever the ball crossed midfield. Sitting in the stands watching a baseball game while the youngest, who had only switched positions recently, caught a pitcher who is still throwing in the major leagues.

Sports are challenging. Not just playing them but also for those who support the players, no matter what role they fill.

But the byproducts are so special.

So are the moments. Those are the hallmarks of the Father’s Day cards we cherish the most.

• Of course, not every parenting memory is exclusively about sports.

We could write a book about the ones related to food, from road trips to practical jokes, from high-class restaurants to low-down concessionaires. A novella about winter nights spent in the basement, playing hoops on a Fisher-Price basket or reading Dr. Seuss together. A short story filled with interactions between the parental units and the boys’ teachers. A primer on how to build benches for baseball games or a step for the early days of bathroom use. An encyclopedia covering the least efficient way to spend a summer afternoon watching Ants do their work all the way to the right time to switch the channel as a Zebra tries to avoid a lion on Animal Planet. A pamphlet on how to enjoy a Major League Baseball game with your children, from the right way to keep score to concessions to avoid – if you want your backseat to not smell like regurgitated garlic fries for a year – and the rules of the home run game – everyone picks one home team player and if they hit a home run, the winner gets to pick out a souvenir.

Such memories are all part of what it means to be a dad.

A father. Papa. The patriarch. Big guy.

And part of why it is such a special calling.

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WSU: We passed along a story yesterday about Klay Thompson doing the modern thing of unfollowing his team on Instaface or Quickgram or whatever it’s called. There is a story about it in the S-R this morning. … The Athletic has a Father’s Day story about the Raiders and the many ties between fathers and sons on the roster. One of the players highlighted? Ron Stone Jr., whose dad played for the Silver and Black back in the day. … Elsewhere in the Pac-12 and the nation, is becoming employees really the best thing for college athletes. If you think so, this Sally Jenkins column might change your mind. Or not. … The numbers stories continue in the Oregonian, with No. 77 from Oregon and Oregon State on the list today. Our favorite No. 77 story? College. Playing baseball at USC. Losing big. Anthony Munoz comes off the bench to play first base for the Trojans. We are coaching first. Munoz is throwing the ball around as the pitcher warms up. We notice he’s wearing 77, which is rare in baseball but turns out was also his USC football number. Smart aleck Vince wonders out loud if a number is missing. Munoz turns and looks quizzical. Our verbally expressed thought that shouldn’t have been? “There should be a ‘4’ between the ‘7s’. You’re big enough.” Luckily, he had a sense of humor or we may not be here today. … Oregon State has been hit with a series of blows lately. A women’s basketball assistant leaving for UW might not seem all that much of one, but it is. … Colorado had an eventful 2023-24 school year. … So has Arizona, which drew more fans to home games than any school in the Pac-12. … The Wildcats’ new football coach finds himself way-too-busy.  

Gonzaga: Isiah Harwell, one of 2025’s top guard recruits, announced yesterday he’s going to pick his college choice Sept. 12. Among his top four is Gonzaga. Theo Lawson has more in this story.

EWU: There has to be a Father’s Day-themed story in the S-R sports section this morning, doesn’t there? After all, the holiday was founded in Spokane back in the day, so we think there is a city ordinance mandating one or something. Leave it to Dave Boling, who has lived the dad thing, to come up with the best subject. And the best story. Don and Dan Monson. Basketball coaches. Father and son. Now, for the first time in a couple decades, within decent driving distance of each other. They’ve always been within story-telling distance. … Elsewhere in the Big Sky, a Montana State coach won an award.

Preps: Pullman High swimmer Jake McCoy, who is headed to Tennessee in the fall, will try to qualify for the Olympics today in Indianapolis. He’s swimming the 400-meter individual medley. … Now that we mentioned the Olympic swimming trials, we might as well links a couple stories about Saturday’s results, including a world record and our favorite American athlete, Katie Ledecky, once again headed to the Games.

Indians: All good things end, right? As do winning streaks. Spokane’s was snapped at six last night, with host Vancouver pulling out a 3-1 victory late. Dave Nichols has more in this story. … Elsewhere in the Northwest League, the loss didn’t hurt as Eugene and Hillsboro, tied for second, both lost, the Emeralds to Everett 7-3, the Hops to Tri-City 6-3.

Golf: There are about four or five guys on the U.S. Open leaderboard this morning we would rather have win than third-round leader Bryson DeChambeau. But the nerdiest golfer in the world enters the final round with a three-stroke lead. And a balky hip. Will he hold on for Open title No. 2 on Pinehurst No. 2?

Storm: Skylar Diggins-Smith had walked away from basketball. For two years. She came back. To play for Seattle. Why?

Mariners: Admit it. As the Rangers rallied in the top of the ninth last night, you started getting nervous. We will own up to it. The fact Scott Servais had to use Ryne Stanek again to get the final out – a Corey Seager rope snagged by first baseman Tyler Locklear – may have consequences today. To be honest, though, we didn’t think the Mariners would blow the lead and lose. We figured somehow they would win by a run. Again. Instead, they held on to enough of their six-run lead to win by two, 7-5. Not only did they add to their American League West lead, they have the largest lead in the league. On Father’s Day. Wow. … The offense is trending in the right direction.

Kraken: Neither the NHL nor NBA title series will be a sweep. Edmonton did its part Saturday night, blowing out Florida 8-1. The Panthers still lead 3-1 in the seven-game series.

Sounders: It was a good evening in SoDo. Not only did the Mariners win, but the Sounders celebrated the club’s 50th anniversary with a surprisingly easy 2-0 win over Minnesota. The United came in with the third-best point total in the West.

Reign: Seattle will try to snap a skid today. But always tough Portland is the visiting opponent.

Seahawks: Who says editors are important? Today, whoever gave the OK for the Kansas City Super Bowl rings. This story made us laugh.

Horse racing: We finish our links today with this one to a first-person piece from Jon White, a Lewis and Clark High alum who was recently voted into the Washington Racing Hall of Fame.

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• We don’t drink often or much. Mainly because we say stupid things when we do. Like the time just after we became a father for the first time. At a poker game with co-workers. Drank too much Chivas Regal on the rocks. Won a hand. Blurted out, for no reason other than we were inebriated, “Being a dad is great.” An older co-worker, dealing everyday with the challenge of two teenage sons, looked at us like we were an idiot. (We weren’t, just not in our right mind.) Grabbed the bottle in front of us. Said, loudly, “I’ve got to get me some of that Chivas” as if it was a magic elixir or something, and chugged. It wasn’t. But, maybe, fatherhood is. When you can look back at it. And remember the highs and lows with some equanimity. Until later …