“Something Just Like This” by Coldplay and The Chainsmokers blasted through the car speakers as my dad drove me to practice. “Everything Now” by Arcade Fire came before and multiple songs by The Killers would come after.
I can’t hear these songs without thinking of my dad.
This was our routine for years, playing the same playlist and skipping the same songs on our way to any soccer practice or game. Those songs have become ingrained in my brain, not because I was going to play the sport I loved, but because one of my biggest supporters sat in the driver’s seat.
My dad was integral to my sports journey. He coached my youth basketball, football and baseball teams; the last two were almost all boys, but he had a way of never making me feel excluded. He would take me early to practice to work on catching fly balls and he taught me to throw so I could pitch when kid pitch — kids pitching instead of coaches — began. He would take me to the YMCA on the weekends to shoot hoops in the gym with my brother. He was my father but he was also my coach. He had a way of making me feel like a part of the team without feeling different from the rest of the kids. He found the perfect balance of being both a father and a coach, which made my childhood experience with athletics virtually perfect.
My dad didn’t coach me in soccer, which may be slightly ironic because that’s the sport I eventually fell in love with. But while he wasn’t an official coach on any of my soccer teams, he was definitely my coach at home. He encouraged me to train outside of practice, whether that was running a mile around our subdivision, passing around at the local park or running drills on my future high school’s practice field. I always, always complained when he encouraged me to train, but looking back on it now I realize how ungrateful I was for the effort he was putting in to make me the best player I could be. (Sorry for all the complaints, Dad. Thank you for never letting me quit when I wanted to). With some effort, he taught me to be coachable.
My dad would — and still will — drop anything to help me, with soccer or otherwise. He drove me and my brother to a technical training soccer session every weekend that was 40 minutes away and, even though I was terrified to go my first time, he encouraged me to attend and ended up introducing me to a program I loved, Next Level Training. He drove my brother half an hour to practice every weekday so that he could play at the high-level club he wanted to instead of simply making him play at our local club. I know he would’ve done the same for me the second I asked. He enrolled me in 3 versus 3 tournaments, drove me to all my games and gave up his evenings to take me to a (rough) 9-10 p.m. practice in another town once a week. I wouldn’t be where I was and love soccer as much as I do without my dad.
My dad mainly played basketball growing up, but he also played football and hockey with his brother and their friends. One sport he never played, however, was soccer. But as soon as my brother and I took an interest in it, so did he. He studied the game, followed professional teams and learned the proper strategy and technique for it. He realized it was important to me and my brother, so it became important to him too. He didn’t know how to play, but he organized drills for us to run at the park and would pass around with us to make sure he was as involved as possible.
Learning the game the way he did made him one of the best off-the-field coaches. Whenever I got in the car after a game — whether it was a win or a loss, a good game or a bad game, the first game of the season or the last — we would have a debrief of the match, discussing in detail everything that had just happened. He was the best at talking through plays, giving me advice and understanding my frustrations when I voiced them. We would talk about what went well and what needed improvement and I knew I could always trust his advice. He’s sensible and logical and he was always a strong voice of both critique and support when I needed it. He may not have been the official coach of my soccer team, but he was the most important one I had at home.
My dad was not only a vital piece of my soccer career — he was also one of the main reasons why I came to love sports in general. Every morning when I walked downstairs, SportsCenter would be playing on the TV until it simply became second nature for me and my brother to turn it on if we got up before my dad did. Whenever we’d be lounging on the deck outside, he’d bring his portable radio to listen to the Detroit Tigers games. We went to Minor League baseball games and Detroit Pistons games and we got RedZone to watch all of the NFL action every Sunday during the season. We got a basketball hoop on our driveway so that my brother and I could shoot around and we also got a collapsible soccer goal so the two of us could practice. If my dad hadn’t shared his passion for sports with me, I likely wouldn’t be where I am, writing for The Michigan Daily Sports section.
Because of my dad, I’ve also become a huge professional soccer fan. Since my brother and I showed an interest in the sport, my dad started following the English Premier League, watching games and following coverage before choosing Manchester United as his team which has now become our team. We watch every game, know all of the players and each have countless of the players’ jerseys. Following Man U gives us a shared interest, something to discuss and something to share updates about. It also gives us time together as we hole up in our living room to watch Premier League Sundays. My dad has brought me sports but sports have also brought me my dad, and that connection has created an unbreakable bond within my family.
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I can’t remember the last time my dad missed one of my games. There were definitely times when I had to travel and, with my dad’s work, it would be just my mom and I for the weekend. But every time he could make it, he did. And he still does. Playing club soccer for Victors FC at the University of Michigan has allowed me to continue playing competitively in college and my dad continues to show up even now. Whenever we have a game at Mitchell Field, he’s there, and when we had shortened winter league games in Canton, he drove to see me play there too. Dad, thank you for showing up. You don’t understand how much it means to me and how truly grateful I am for it.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve needed my dad’s direct involvement less, but the groundwork that he laid remains unbelievably important. Not only did he spark my interest in sports, he nurtured it, making the sporting world one of my favorite interests to immerse myself in and come back to. He supported me then and continues to support me now, and he’s never stopped giving me advice on how to improve, continuing to coach me along. He’s both my father and my coach and he’s done the best job imaginable at being both.
My dad no longer drives me to practices and games, so I no longer hear our playlist every time I play soccer. But whenever I hear those songs, I immediately think of my dad. Sometimes I’ll listen to them in my dorm room or on my way to class and I’m immediately brought right back to those car rides.
Dad, thank you for everything. Thank you for being my coach and my role model and giving me something to be passionate about. I appreciate it more than you know.
Happy Father’s Day!
Love,
Hadley
Statement Contributor Hadley Zann can be reached at hzann@umich.edu.
