When I was covering the state wrestling tournament in Columbia last month, I spent a lot of time watching parents watch their kids.

It was the biggest tournament of most of their lives, and for better or worse, a lot of parents treated it as such. 

After observing friends and family on both extremes of the fan spectrum, I realized two things:

Sports aren’t nearly as important as some people believe.

But they’re a heck of a lot more important than others believe, too.

My last good conversation with my grandpa – like all the rest — was about sports.

It was Tuesday, Feb. 13, and I called him during halftime of the Kansas/Iowa State basketball game. 

I called to check on how he was doing, but, like usual, I got nowhere.

He talked about KU’s 3-point shooting in the first half, and how they attacked a zone defense, and how they don’t find their big guy enough, and asked me if I thought they’d win their 14th consecutive Big 12 championship, and if they’d make a Final Four this season.

He even went on a rant about some high school quarterback north of Seattle, wondering aloud why the University of Washington didn’t recruit him.

Three nights earlier, we complained about how college basketball refs call block/charge fouls.

On the surface, none of it mattered.

But a few years ago I realized he used conversations about sports to avoid talking about cancer and doctors appointments and chemotherapy – things that really mattered.

So I played along.

I’d call and get updates from Grandma before talking to Grandpa about whatever was happening in the sports world. He had a knack for dismissing his problems and changing the subject in the same breath.

“Oh, I’m good so I was watching this game the other night and so-and-so can really shoot.”

Something like that.

He liked talking sports, and he liked playing them, too. He would play H.O.R.S.E in their driveway with whomever was around, and it seemed like he got away with shooting the same turnaround elbow jumper every time.

House rules, I suppose.

So while sports aren’t as important as some people think, anyone denying their importance altogether is a fool.

My final conversation with my grandpa was last Thursday.

I asked him if he had seen the last Kansas game, and he reminded me they played Texas Tech Saturday afternoon.

He died as the game tipped off, around 1 p.m. Pacific Time.

I first thought he would have tried to stick around and watch the game, but then I realized he knew what everyone else knew.

Kansas was going to win; there was no need to see how it played out.