I’ve never been any good at basketball, but my dad was. He played in high school and college, and he tried to pass that passion down to his children — with little luck. I never mastered the free throw, my brother stopped playing competitively after middle school, and my sister still doesn’t know how to dribble.

But whenever there was a basketball game on TV, we’d sit tight on our faded green couch and cheer for whichever team my dad was supporting. We’d watch the greats play while our great player broke the games down for us.