In December, espnW's weekly essay series will focus on family.
I've heard a number of women say something to the effect of "My dad wanted a son, but then he got me!" to explain their lifelong love of sports.
However, my dad didn't care if he had a boy or a girl. Either way, they were going to love sports no matter what.
Gender, be damned.
Raised in a small town in Connecticut, my dad, Gerry Maine, grew up watching and playing sports with his dad. From basketball to baseball to boxing, they loved them all. I never got a chance to meet my grandfather -- a dentist, who wrote Notre Dame football game recaps in his spare time just for the heck of it -- but I've always felt a part of him lives on in my dad when we talk about Bill Russell and the glory days of the Boston Celtics or Muhammad Ali's earliest fights. Those were things my dad and grandfather watched together.
While my dad ran varsity track in high school and played baseball during his childhood, his true passion was basketball. While he may not have had the height or talent to make the school team, his love for the game never wavered.
And he passed that on to me -- from the day I was born.
My mom was a professional dancer and remains to this day one of the best athletes I know, but she has never cared for watching sports on television. So I became my dad's defacto buddy, sitting on the couch watching the UConn Huskies or the Celtics starting as an infant. While I don't remember going to my first UConn game as a toddler, my dad bought me my first soda at halftime, and my mom's plan for a sugar-free child went out the window.
I was four when a basketball was first put in my hands.
In second grade, I had my first chance to play organized basketball. A league called "Saturday Hoopsters" took place at my elementary school, and I remember walking down the street on the first day, side by side with my proud dad. He didn't hesitate when they asked for parent volunteers to coach.
I loved everything about the game, from the musty smell of the old gym to the sound of the ball on the squeaky hardwood. I also loved walking to the school with my dad and spending time with him. On our walks back, we would dissect everything that took place. Saturdays were my sanctuary, and I looked forward to our ritual all week.
Our mutual love for basketball soon extended to other sports as well. My boundless energy needed to be harnessed, so I started playing soccer around the same time. While my dad was well versed in many sports, he knew nothing about soccer. But that didn't stop him from signing up to be the coach for my sister, Erin, and my team when no one else stepped up. He bought a "Soccer for Dummies" book.
My dad was the frequent carpool driver when other parents wanted to sleep in or had other things to do. He was always there, whether as a coach or as a devoted fan in the stands.
With a fused neck due to Ankylosing spondylitis, among other serious ailments, he has never let his health stop him. While his condition is visibly apparent and has left him unable to turn his head since he was in his 20s, I don't remember noticing that as a kid. He never once complained and still played with me like any other parent might.
It didn't take long for sports to be my absolute everything. And if I wasn't playing something, I was watching. While my dad had always been a fan of the UConn men's basketball team, he hadn't watched much of the women's team, but that changed as soon as their games were first televised on a local channel. We watched just about every game during the 1994-95 season.
The Huskies went 35-0 that year and won their first national championship. I was obsessed with the team, in a way that many of my peers were about heartthrobs Jonathan Taylor Thomas or Leonardo DiCaprio. Together, we attended the Huskies' victory parade in downtown Hartford, went to pep rallies and to just about every event celebrating the team.
While I barely stood over 4 feet at that point, I was determined to one day play for coach Geno Auriemma and the Huskies. I'm sure it was apparent to everyone but me that this wasn't going to happen, but my dad encouraged me to go for my dream.
I spent about every moment in my free time shooting around on the basketball hoop I had begged for in the driveway. The hoop was a combined birthday and Christmas present. My dad shot around with me whenever he could. We usually played H-O-R-S-E together, or with any other neighborhood kid -- and I almost always lost. My dad never let me win. But I'll never forget the first time I beat him. I couldn't believe it.
Like my dad, my talent for the game never matched my passion, and I never did get recruited by Auriemma. But I did play throughout high school, and my dad came to almost every game. He arranged his work schedule to have a few hours off in the afternoon and would go back to the office or to meetings in the evening. It made for long days, but his support meant (and still means) everything to me.
After a successful heart surgery this year, I'm training for a 5K race in the spring -- my first organized run since high school. While I know I have no chance at winning, I do know I'll have the most dedicated fan cheering me on.
Thanks, Dad.