One of a Kind

“Excuse me?”

That’s all I could get out. A good friend of mine on the other side of the phone had just given me the news. It didn’t really compute. I was silent for what I was certain was an extended period after that initial response. I feel like I’m someone who, for the most part, always has something to say. Not here.

I hung up the phone and dialed my mom. She was the only person I could think to call in that moment.

“Mom, Zach Hoffpauir passed away.”

—

I remember how excited 14 year-old me was to start playing football at Centennial. I don’t really have any memory of ever being good at playing in pads, though. I had played, like, two seasons of tackle football in my life coming in, but I knew I loved the sport and I’d figure it out. It was much harder than just figuring it out. Playing at a school with the reputation Centennial has was something a kid like me couldn’t have been prepared for. It was wildly competitive, with kids from all over doing all they could to eventually make varsity and win a state championship.

I think the best way to describe it, at the time, was cutthroat.

I tried extremely hard to fit that mold. To flip the switch, find that aggression and make a contribution on the field, but it never really happened. Looking back, I really just wanted to be friends with everyone. I wanted to make my teammates laugh and have a good time. I didn’t think it was possible to do that while also being exceptionally good at the sport. It was a tough time trying to figure that all out as a high school freshman.

Meanwhile, our varsity team was a season removed from winning three straight state titles. As a freshman football player, walking around with a hand-me-down, dingy white former varsity jersey complemented by an I.D. hanging around my neck on a ‘Coyote pride” lanyard, you looked up to those guys. You eventually wanted to go from wearing that nasty jersey on Wednesday, to wearing the clean Nike jersey on Friday. It was the progression and we all wanted to be there.

There were plenty of names that held weight when I was a freshman. None held the same amount as the name Zach Hoffpauir. I remember looking up to any dude wearing the varsity jersey, but for some reason it was always a little more cool seeing 31. It’s not like you could miss him, either. He was usually dancing through the hallways or letting out that distinct laugh you could hear from anywhere.

It looked like he was having an absolute blast anytime I saw him.

I stopped playing football after my J.V. season — spoiler alert: the kid who unironically pulled a hand-written speech out of his sock during my short-lived campaign for freshman football captain and referred to our mascot as the “coy-oh-tee” instead of the “coy-ote”, cardinal sin, by the way, didn’t ever make it to varsity. Instead, I thought about all of the practices in 100-degree heat, right next to the pool and all the days where the swim team would scream “10!” so we’d have to do push-ups — if you know, you know. I decided I was going to join the swim team on the last day of my sophomore summer.

I quickly realized 1. It wasn’t the relaxing time spent in the pool that I thought it would be and 2. I wouldn’t be on the radar for the Olympics at any point in my life. So, yet another lesson learned for me.

Zach, on the other hand, was now playing on Saturdays, with a cardinal № 10 on his Stanford football jersey. He traded it in for a № 8 Stanford baseball jersey in the spring. It was just the beginning of a long, accomplished collegiate career for an enormously-talented athlete. I remember checking in to see how he was doing periodically, through box scores and what-not. Whenever I could, I’d watch him on T.V. I don’t think we’d ever really talked at this point, mind you, It was just cool to know that guy and I had come from the same place.

Me and some of my friends had grown very close Zach’s dad, Doug. There was no one cooler than Doug. Whether he was meeting up with us to play basketball — the man is lethal with the mid-range jumper — or just chirping us for a laugh, any time spent with Doug was bound to be a good time.

In the Fall of 2013, Doug invited me and two of my friends to go to Palo Alto with him for Zach’s game against UCLA. He had a trailer out there he stayed in whenever he’d go to Zach’s home games, which I’m pretty sure was most, if not all, of them and we were gonna pack it for the weekend.

I knew for certain I’d be sleeping on the floor, which was 100 percent fine. I had built a reputation at the time for being able to crash anywhere, so while two nights on the floor might’ve been a hurdle for some, it was oddly familiar for me. I, again, want to reiterate that I can’t remember having any conversations at length with Zach leading up to this point. We’d be in the same social circles and everything, but in my mind, this dude was in another social universe. I couldn’t just walk up and talk to Zach Hoffpauir. Who was I?

I was nervous to go on this trip. I’m a notorious over-thinker, anyone who knows me, knows that all too well. I remember just thinking, ‘This dude probably has no idea who I am, I’m going to roll up to his football game, with his dad and two of my friends and he’s just going to be confused.’ Like, did Zach even know my name? I wasn’t sure. Those thoughts became even more prominent when I found out we were going to a practice. At that point, they morphed into something like ‘Okay, so, now, the kid he doesn’t know is going to be rocking a badge that reads something along the lines of ‘S-Practice, Family, #10 Hoffpauir?’

Again, I’m an over-thinker.

So, we make the 12 hour drive to Palo Alto through a Thursday night. I curled up next to a bag of Lays and I remember the drive flying by. We pulled up to the R.V., we dropped our stuff off and we headed for Palo Alto. Friday was the day we were going to practice, so I was a little nervous.

I remember walking up to the practice field with Doug and my two friends. We thought it was awesome how Doug knew everyone. Parents, players, Doug was talking to them all with some Ari Gold-esque shades on. If we were with Doug, we felt like we belonged. Now, I might have stopped playing football by this time, but that didn’t mean I didn’t still follow college and pro football religiously. We walked past Kevin Hogan, Ty Montgomery, future Hard Knocks star Devon Cajuste, the list goes on. Just an all-around cool experience for a couple of 16 year olds.

Practice had ended and Zach walked up. He’s talking with his dad, then he moves to start chatting with my friends and I’m kind of just sitting there, taking it all in. He then glances over at me and chuckles.

“For some reason, you remind me of Jonah Hill dude.”

We all start laughing. From that point on, we were cool. All of us cracking jokes, laughing together, it just felt like the five of us had been friends for years. From my perspective, that was the coolest part about Zach. It didn’t matter who you were, if you were around him, he treated you like you had always been his friend. There’s no doubt that was passed down from his dad.

There’s so many moments from that trip that stick with me and they’re all centered around Zach, the person. The dude who threw on Martin Garrix’s Animals in his dad’s truck and broke out a full-on dance that I still sometimes find myself trying to emulate to this day, while me and my friends cried laughing in the back seat. The dude who hatched a well-orchestrated plan with his dad to table-top me into a bush, but then, while trying to catch his breath, quickly helped me out of it. (Update: With a little help, I found the photo of me in the bush. I’ll drop that after this paragraph.) The dude who’s laugh alone could make you laugh.

The thing about Zach, in my experience, was for as great of an athlete as he was, he was an even better person. In the time I shared with him on Centennial’s campus, he had this celebrity-like aura about him. Looking back, that was never actually perpetuated by him or the way he acted. It was more of a perception, if that makes sense. All of that melted away the second you talked to him. At that point, he was just a person. That person just so happened to be one of the most naturally funny and caring people I’ve ever encountered.

In the year or two following that trip, I stopped trying to find a sport to go pro in and I finally decided I wanted to be a writer. I put my love for sports and writing together and it led me to trying out the sports editor position at my high school’s paper and ultimately enrolling at The Cronkite School.

Zach and I talked from time to time at this point. I remember him telling me and a few of my friends once that Nelson Agholor was the hardest player he’d ever had to defend in college, which was pretty cool to hear as an Eagles fan. Now that I reflect on that time and even the time leading up to today, I still found myself overthinking whether or not it was cool if I just texted him to chat, or tried to meet up. I knew he was busy, I kept telling myself I didn’t want to bother him. I had convinced myself that we weren’t close enough to be on those terms.

I wish I could go back and convince myself that wasn’t the case. He would’ve never treated me like anything other than his friend. I know for a fact a text or a call would have resulted in another memory that I’d have today.

What I wouldn’t give to have another one of those memories.

—

It was October of my Freshman year at ASU. Zach was progressing in his collegiate career at Stanford and now I had decided I was all in on trying to become a sportswriter. I had written stories from time to time leading up to this point, but none that ever required an interview. Just the classic blog-style gamer using a box score.

I reached out to Zach to see if he would be willing to let me interview him, for a story that would not be published, as practice. He didn’t hesitate. We set up a time and I gave him a call.

On Friday, I found the audio. Turns out I recorded the call on Google Voice and it’s been on my account since Oct. 20, 2014. I listened back and I have to say, Zach was a trooper for getting through that phone call. The sheer amount of time I fell back on “like” and “so” and “you know what I mean?” during the conversation was staggering. Still, he answered every question like he was talking to an actual reporter. It meant a lot to me then and it means a lot to me now that he took the time to do that.

I remember the call taking place a few days after his game against Washington State in 2014. The dude finished with 15 tackles and people — namely then-Seahawks WR and Stanford alumnus Doug Baldwin — took notice. My question concerning the tweet that Doug Baldwin sent out, acknowledging Zach’s performance was as follows.

“So, you know, last week Doug Baldwin tweeted at you, you had like 15 tackles against Washington State, so, I mean, you’re starting to get recognized for everything that you’re doing. How’s that feel, dude? A professional athlete, Stanford alumni, tweeting at you like, ‘hey congratulations,’ like, you’re starting to, I don’t know, I don’t know if ‘make it’ is the right word? but, you kind of catch my drift with that.”

Real concise question.

Still, he took that question and turned it into an answer that I felt perfectly encapsulated who he was.

“I wouldn’t say I’ve made it in any stretch of the imagination. I’ve still got a lot to prove and I’m always trying to get better, but it’s cool being recognized by a guy like Doug.”

As good of a player as he was, he was equally humble.

After that answer, I ended the conversation by saying “Hey, you’re a true professional Zach.” He laughed, before telling me he appreciated it. I then told him I really appreciated him talking to me and I hoped I’d get to see him sometime soon.

“No worries bro, anytime,” he replied.

—

There’s certain people, for whatever reason, you never expect you’ll have to see go. I think, at first, that’s why I was so shaken by that phone call. Zach really seemed larger than life sometimes, but it was only that way until you talked to him. The second you had a conversation with Zach, you knew he was a person, just like the rest of us and why he made an impact on everyone he came in contact with.

For me, a kid who’s always struggled with feeling like he didn’t belong or battled constantly with the anxieties that can come with being in social settings, he made me forget that by simply laughing with me and talking to me. Sometimes, that’s all it takes. I don’t even think he knew that. I mean, I don’t think it was a conscious thing with Zach — he was just nice to people, regardless.

That was the beauty of Zach’s life. He made an impact anywhere he went. Peoria, Palo Alto, it didn’t matter — he was Zach, a one of a kind type of dude. That’s how I’ll always remember him.

I feel incredibly grateful that I got to spend the time with him that I did. I know I’ll be telling Zach stories for the rest of my life and I think it’s going to be that way for anyone that knew him. Whether you were in weight training with him and you remember him hiding at the top of the bleachers while we ran the bleachers until the instructor found him, watching him dance through the halls at Centennial High School, or whatever it may be, everyone’s got a great Zach story.

For that reason, he’ll never be gone.

Thanks, Zach. For the impact you made on my life in the short time we got to spend together. I appreciate all of the laughs and the joy you brought to me and so many others. We’ve got you now, man.

Your memory lives in all of us. Until we meet again.