For some reason, it seems like Father’s Day and sports have become intertwined.

I don’t know why that is, but I embrace the connection. When I think of my dad, memories of sports are the first things that pop into my head.

Sports, obviously, are currently a huge part of my life. I get paid for writing and watching games. It can’t get much better than that.

But it was my dad that instilled my passion and love for sports.

Obviously, sports aren’t the only events that come to mind when thinking about my father. He has been there for me at every step of my life, willing to do everything and anything that needed to be done for me to be happy.

During the down times, he was there to pick me up and get me back on my feet. During the good times, he was always there with a smile, letting me enjoy the moment.

There are no words to describe how much those memories mean to me and how much I appreciate the guidance my dad has shown. He always made me feel special. He made me feel like I was the most important person in his life and I just knew that he would never let anyone or anything hurt me.

But it is through sports that gave me the most treasured memories of my father.

He was there for every game. If it meant getting off work early or using his very valuable vacation time, he was there, no matter what.

It’s stuff that I took for granted when I was growing up. As a kid, I never really thought about the enormous amount of time it took for my parents to take and pick me up from soccer, baseball, football, basketball or any other practice.

Now I know.

Having kids and starting to deal with multiple practices and games during the week, I’m realizing how much time this stuff actually takes.

It seems like every night, I’m warming up dinner in the microwave at 8:30 p.m. because we are just getting home from some type of game or practice.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way, and that attitude comes directly from my parents. They still attend most of their grandkids’ games and my dad even makes appearances at my beer-league softball games. At one point last year, he even got up the nerve to coach third base at one of my games because we were making too many mistakes on the basepaths.

He knew it would embarrass me, but he really didn’t care. He just wanted to be involved.

And that is what makes him special. It would have been very easy for him not to be involved. He worked hard for 30 years inside a warehouse, picking orders and loading them into trains and trucks.

I know he was tired when he walked in the door after doing physical labor for eight hours every day. But that didn’t stop me from waiting by the door with a football or my baseball glove. I remember only allowing him enough time to take off his boots and change his clothes before asking him to go outside and play catch or to shoot some baskets.

He never said, “Sorry Case, I’m too tired today. I had a hard day at work. Can we do it tomorrow?” That would have been too easy.

Instead, he would grab his glove and head out to the yard — rain or shine.

I remember my dad playing catch with me for hours on end. And it could never be just the typical kind of catch, either. I forced my dad to “make me dive” with every throw. I know my mom wasn’t a big fan of the constant grass stains that the diving game put on my pants, but she never complained too much. She knew I was having the time of my life.

And unlike a lot of the parents these days, my dad never pushed me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I know he would have been just as supportive if I loved playing the piano or wanted to be an actor. He would have been just as proud.

But sports were my deal and my dad was my biggest fan.

When I was playing baseball at Gonzaga University, my mom would always tell me stories about how my dad would go down to the Auburn Library to get a copy of the Spokane Spokesman-Review after every game. And I can only imagine what he was like at work after seeing a boxscore when I got a couple hits.

I’m sure his buddies at work got sick of hearing stories about his son. I can only imagine that he made me sound like Babe Ruth. I’m also sure they got tired of him wearing the Gonzaga Baseball T-shirt that I gave to him. They must have thought that he had about 10 of those shirts, because he wore that thing everyday.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. If I’m half the father you are to my kids, then I’m doing a heck of a job. Thanks for always being there for me. I love you more than words or a story in the newspaper can describe.