There is no denying I am my father’s son. We have the same build, the same dark hair, the same brown eyes, the same disposition, the same sense of humor, and the list goes on and on.

But the love of sports doesn’t come from him. It comes from my mother.

Growing up, there was always a game on the television in the evenings. Braves baseball makes for great white noise in the evening. Gatherings with the extended family happened around Mom’s birthday in March, Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas. For those days, the entertainment, respectively, was the ACC Tournament, the Masters or the NBA Playoffs, the NFL showcase games and the NBA holiday extravaganza.

The societal construct is sons learn about sports from their fathers. Dad and I played golf and he, being born in Alabama, taught me about the Iron Bowl rivalry. I learned the difference between War Eagle and Roll Tide from him.

My mother, however, is where I get my mannerisms during games. She graduated from North Carolina. I won’t say when because I’m a good son, or at least I try to be.

Tar Heel basketball games were her time. You better believe there was a routine. An ottoman was always parked dead center in front of the television. The focus was on the game. For a big play, there was a leap into the air, a few fist pumps and some kind of booty shake that can neither be described nor do I want to describe it.

Negative plays were met with a quick and to the point, “Shoot.” It was a yelling whisper at the players, whom are still affectionately known as “babies.”

That was passed on to me. During Auburn football games, I have my tendencies. I stand more than I sit. I pace back and forth. They’re not “babies” but “boys.” Though the strong and quick “shoot” comes out when something doesn’t work as planned.

Sports is the only thing we have in common. It’s not even close.

We’re both stubborn as hell and lack an even half-decent poker face. Neither of us has to tell you something is wrong for us to let you you know something is wrong. When that comes out, it’s best to just not say anything and ride out the wave.

I also wouldn’t be where I am today without her.

To this day, I have never heard anyone speak ill of her. She’s smart, kind and patient. Lord knows I tested that last one plenty growing up and even into adulthood.

Mom taught, and still teaches, me so many lessons without actually sitting down and spelling it out step by step. The most important being sincerity will take anyone as far as they want to go in a career and in life.

And for all of this, I could not ask for anyone else to have raised me.