Coaching His Way

My mother called me earlier today at work to tell me that my father’s basketball coaching career is now under way, and under way with a splash. My dad had been playing basketball for about a zillion years until a partially severed Achilles’ tendon stopped him cold at the age of 62. Somehow, someway, he was talked into coaching 9-12 year-olds. According to my mother, my father had organized one or two short practices, and yesterday evening came the first game, unbeknownst to me. But my mother attended and sat a row or two behind the team. She apparently was entertained, at least entertained enough to call me and give me the scoop.

It seemed everything was going along fine and without incident until a pass bounced off the back of a boy who was the pass’s intended recipient, and one of my father’s players. What then transpired, according to my mom, was one of the other players on the team shouted something unkind to the boy.

My mother asked me to guess what my father/the coach did next. Well, I was pretty sure what my he did next; he removed from the game the boy who had done the shouting, sat him on the bench, and gave him a short, calm, but direct lecture that probably focused on something like the camaraderie needed for both good team play as well as for the enjoyment of sports. My mom pretty much confirmed my guess. But of course it was not exactly a guess. After all, this coach has been my father for a while now and it isn’t like my childhood was free of such lectures, although the lectures were not usually pertaining specifically to sports. 

Oddly, I never heard who won the game. What might seem even odder is that it is quite possible my father doesn’t know either.