
Green Bay visits Oakland after Niavalurua's 23-point showing
Green Bay Phoenix (2-20, 0-11 Horizon League) at Oakland Golden Grizzlies (9-13, 6-5 Horizon League)
Auburn Hills, Michigan; Thursday, 7 p.m. EST
BOTTOM LINE: Oakland hosts Green Bay after Tuburu Niavalurua scored 23 points in Oakland's 73-71 loss to the Robert Morris Colonials.
The Golden Grizzlies are 5-2 on their home court. Oakland has a 2-2 record in one-possession games.

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It's 1996, and I am maybe six weeks old. That does not stop my parents and grandfather from taking me to a baseball game. It's a clear, cool May night in the Bay Area, and the Oakland A's are playing the Boston Red Sox at the Oakland Coliseum. This is my very first baseball game. Obviously, I don't remember it. However, my parents do, and when my dad tells the story, he recalls how I spent the entire game strapped to his chest, wide awake and mesmerized by the bright stadium lights. Advertisement He also tells me how he munched on a bag of peanuts throughout the game, and how my mom was less than pleased to find her newborn daughter covered in peanut shells by the end of it. There would be countless more baseball games my dad would take me to growing up, most of them in San Francisco to watch the Giants play. But if we're designating an official starting point for this journey of ours, it would be this. It's 2006, and my summer is spent either at the Vacaville, Calif., softball fields, my brother's Little League games, or our neighborhood park. My dad, Dave Woo, is a fixture at all three. He coaches both of our teams, works as a property manager, and spends whatever limited remaining free time he has throwing Wiffle balls for the rest of the kids in our cul-de-sac. My dad invented a game with our (very understanding) neighbors. If anyone can hit the house across the court, we can all go for ice cream. We made a lot of group trips to Baskin-Robbins that summer, and my dad paid for them every time. I remember my brother and I waiting for our dad to come home from work each day that summer, bat bags packed and ready to go. When his white pickup truck rolled into view, we would scramble to the front yard and start loading up a wagon to take to the park: buckets of balls, L-screens, tees, you name it, we had it. We would hit for hours, the three of us (and occasionally our family dogs), until Mom called to say it was time to come home for dinner. After dinner, we'd turn on the Giants game, and my dad would continue teaching me the rules and strategies of the game. He would quiz me on stats, when a team should pinch hit, what each player's strengths were, and what pitches to throw when. Neither of us knew it at the time, but he was laying the foundation of my childhood — and eventually, my future. It's 2012, it's Halloween, and the Giants have just won their second World Series in three years (sorry about that National League Championship Series, Cardinals fans). My aunt, who works for the city of San Francisco at the time, has an office that oversees City Hall — the ending point of the World Series parade. In what was a very uncharacteristic decision, my parents let me skip school for the day to attend. My dad and I catch an early-morning BART train before the sun rises and arrive to find a sea of black and orange flooding Market Street. We make our way to the Civic Center and finally to City Hall, where we have a bird's-eye view of my childhood icons — Bruce Bochy, Buster Posey, Matt Cain, Hunter Pence, even Brandon Crawford (who I would go on to cover professionally, 12 years later). Advertisement One of the confetti cannons is right above the balcony of my aunt's office. When the speeches conclude, it fires off and blasts my dad and me both. Tiny, fluttering pieces of orange, white and black paper remain in my hair the rest of the day. It was, simply put, the best day ever. It's 2014, I'm about to graduate from high school, and I've chosen the college I'm going to attend — the University of Oregon. To celebrate, my dad makes good on a promise he made years ago. 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It's 2025, and I'm in the midst of my fifth season covering the Cardinals. I don't get to watch many games in person with my dad anymore, but he's my first call most nights when I leave the yard. Our conversations now are pretty similar to the conversations we had when I was a kid, except I'm the one explaining game strategies now. My dad reads every story I write and watches almost every Cardinals game. Baseball remains our connecting point in so many different ways. But that's what makes this sport unique, right? We don't fall in love with baseball simply because of the sport itself. We fall in love with it because of the people we share it with. How lucky am I to have been able to share this journey with you, Dad. Happy Father's Day. (Top photo of Dave and Katie Woo: Courtesy of the Woo family)

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