As fans of basketball, we all know how incendiary Dan Dakich can be. His career can best be summed up as the dude in the movie Hoosiers that shot underhanded free throws and is now paid 6 or 7 figures per to belittle the rest of us on how little we know, and how lazy we are.
As Midwestern fans of the B1G we all hate him, or so it seems. We crack jokes, we make statements. On the surface, the hate is real. Deep down, it’s also real. On a personal level, it’s also real. Why? Dan Dakich is our dad. He is the great Santini chucking the basketball at our head when we dare to beat him at 1 on 1. We know we are right, we know we are more sophisticated, however, the ball keeps bashing against our forehead.
Deep down inside, we all admire what he espouses. Work ethic. Much like our fathers, maybe he walked the walk, maybe he didn’t. He preaches it, and that’s something. Also, we feel rejected. Maybe daddy doesn’t like us. I never gave this dynamic much thought until...
Once that simple little tweet replied to my equally simple tweet, I felt a euphoric joy. Why? Mean daddy Dakich finally likes me. I mean, he probably doesn’t. He most certainly still has no idea who I am. But that little acceptance from an overbearing figure is the most Midwestern of feelings. Sometimes it’s mom. Sometime it’s dad. Usually it’s both.
Tonight it was Dakich. I know I should still hate him, even though his kid went nuts against Maryland after transferring from Michigan. But it’s deeper than that. This hard ass whom I kinda respect and kinda hate gave me a minute of attention, and for that, I am now a Dakich fan. Why? Because deep down inside, Dakich is just like my dad. He is an overbearing dick that, in his mid-western way, is just there to make me a better person.