The days are long, but the years are short. This advice is advanced to parents about raising children. It applies to life, but in our case sports.

My wife and I were thrilled our two sons showed interest the first time they held a bat and threw a ball. It was in the family DNA with her past as a cheerleader and her brothers playing football and my life growing up as an identical twin with my father serving as a coach for all seasons.

I was ecstatic when our oldest son Dagin first used a spoon left-handed as a baby, viewing him as a pitcher. I was surprised how competitive our youngest son Brady was, wanting to win at everything starting at four years old. Sports defined our spare time. I coached. My wife functioned as a general manager and treasurer.

Our family vacations became travel ball baseball trips to Cooperstown, Omaha, Las Vegas, Phoenix and St. Louis. The boys played in 11 states. Their careers overlapped for one year at Longmont High School. Dagin pitched for three years at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs. Brady won an NAIA championship at Westmont College, and joined Pepperdine as a grad student.

We traveled to Las Vegas on Wednesday to watch Brady play in the West Coast Conference tournament for our final game as a sports family. Brady homered in what we figured was his last at-bat. Turns out he had one more line drive to left to add to his statistics. But when that ball exited over the right field fence, it hit us hard. My eyes welled up with pride, and when I turned to my wife, it was like looking in a mirror.

After 21 years of watching our sons compete, it was over. This was always the likely expiration date, but it did not make it any easier. A few days later, I continue to struggle with the abrupt ending. So many endless days, and poof, it was gone in a blink. We would not change a thing.

Youth sports remain eviscerated as too competitive, too expensive, too toxic. And there are threads of truth to this. But they are also wonderful, meaningful, a fertile ground for teaching discipline and accountability, while experiencing unbridled joy and forming lifelong friendships.

Our journey ended Wednesday afternoon with our sons taking a picture down the left-field line. The calendar moves on. Sports will remain a part of our lives, just not in the arena. But I would be lying if I said I won’t be mindlessly glancing at that picture, trying to live in that snapshot forever.

Listening to Gabe Landeskog talk about his recovery from right knee cartilage replacement surgery was revealing. The Avs captain told me he’s no longer motivated to become the first athlete to return from this procedure. His motivation is more simple. He wants to skate off the ice and hug his family. …

File away tight end Lucas Krull’s name. With Greg Dulcich still searching for solutions to his hamstring issues, don’t be surprised if Krull becomes an X-factor in the Broncos’ offense. …

Not a fan of marriage proposals at sporting events. But Phillies star Bryce Harper acting as a wingman for a high schooler’s promposal — knocking on the door and getting a yes — that was cool.

I’m a native Denverite, and yes this Nuggets (Game 7) loss hurts more than anything that I can remember. I’ve suffered through years of Broncos losses in the regular season and playoffs, but this has stuck a knife in my heart.

— Kal Zeppelin, via email

This response is related to my Monday debate with Sean Keeler about the worst loss in Colorado pro sports. The Nuggets’ collapse was shocking as they became the first modern NBA team to blow a 20-point lead in a Game 7. But for me, nothing tops the Jacksonville Jaguars upsetting the Broncos in the 1996 playoffs, preventing a potential three-peat of Super Bowl titles. The Jags were a 12.5-point underdog and had won two road games before stunning a Broncos team spangled with Hall of Famers. That loss remains the ultimate crowbar to the shins.

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