Archive for the ‘Humor’ category
March 11, 2018
WORDS FROM W.W. March 11, 2018
I hand a black and white striped shirt to each one of them. Each of them is also given a whistle, and they stare at me!
“Okay, boys! Here’s what I want you to work on to begin with.”
“The boys” are the players who are a part of my freshmen basketball team. They are being asked to be the officials for the kid’s basketball program that our varsity coach has operated for the past few years. The varsity and junior varsity players are the coaches for the eleven teams of boys between the grades of three and six. “The boys” have all played basketball for several years, but none of them have ever officiated a basketball game.
They look like a herd of deer in headlights, wide-eyed and unsure of how this is going to play out. If asked I am sure each of them would rather be shooting a game-deciding free throw in front of a packed gym than blowing a whistle to indicate that a third grade boy just ran down the court with the basketball and forgot to dribble.
I have them practice their referee mechanics, the hand signals that indicate what call is being made. However, I know that once the game starts they will be like the third and fourth grade boys who are practicing dribbling using two basketballs, but once the game starts they will all dribble to the right corner. My players will practice their mechanics, but once the game begins they will blow their whistles inconsistently and weakly.
“Don’t let your whistles sound like tweety-bird! Strong whistles and strong voices.”
“Coach, I’m going to be awesome!” one of them boasts, but then goes through the entire first half without his whistle making a peep.
“Coach, watch this!” The boy in front of me is doing the hand signal that indicates he is doing a ten second count.
“That’s great, but I don’t think getting a ten second back court violation is our biggest concern with third and fourth graders.” He stares at me as if I mortally wounded him.
“Let’s keep it simple. Arm up with a closed fist means…”
“Foul!”
“Good! Arm up with an open fist means…”
“A really bad foul?”
“No, space cadet! It indicates a stoppage in play because you are about to give the signal for a violation that has happened, or that it’s a held ball, or that the ball is dead.”
“Dead? So, do we get another ball when that happens?”
I don’t have to respond. The player who asks the unintelligent question is hounded by his teammates.
The games begin and I conduct an official’s clinic as the afternoon progresses, instructing these fifteen year olds on where to stand, what to look for, how to use their voices, and how to sell a call that could go either way? I ask them questions about situations and other questions that seek to help them cultivate the common sense of officiating. We laugh together and they get better each game they do.
“You’ve got to have a whistle on that play!” I yell at them.
“Yes, but-“
“No, yes but’s! If you were doing a high school game right now would you stop the game and say to the irate coach ‘Yes, but!’?”
I hung up my whistle last year after sixteen seasons of officiating high school and junior college basketball, but I enjoy these moments of helping my players see things from the perspective of the person with the black and white striped shirt.
And then the reward! A parent comes up to me and says, “Coach, your boys are so much better at officiating than those who have done it in past years.”
I smile and thank her. It’s a comment I share with my players who still at times resemble deer in headlights…but not as often!
Categories: children, coaching, Freedom, Grace, Humor, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: basketball coaching, basketball officials, basketball officiating, basketball referee, helping young guys, mentoring, Officiating, youth basketball, youth basketball teams
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March 10, 2018
WORDS FROM W.W. March 10, 2018
When the teachers in the state of West Virginia went on strike for a pay increase I found myself conflicted. I agreed…some, but also was uncomfortable with it. So I had to ask myself why I was uncomfortable with the idea of teachers holding picket signs and demanding more?
The answer I found spoke to the images I held in my own mind of who teachers are and what they are about. When I think of teachers- the teachers I had in my growing up years back in the 1960’s, and the teachers I know today- I seldom think of how much they are paid. I think of sacrifice, impact, dedication, influencers, passionate people, shapers, leaders, and guides to help students discover
I don’t think about compensation and pension plans…and that’s part of the problem! When I look at the whole picture of teaching, compensation is just one of the many colors that are used to paint the portrait. We rely on teachers to do so much that we often forget that they deserve more.
Most of us have heard the arguments. “Well, they only work nine months out of the year! I wish I had a job like that!” Right!!! As a pastor I heard the same jab at my calling. “Must be nice to only work one day a week!” I wanted to reply “If I didn’t have a congregation filled with messed up people I COULD just work on Sundays!” People who are stuck in a time warp of the belief that teachers only work nine months out of the year are as clueless as a first grader in trigonometry class! Summers are now filled with preparation for the next year, reviewing textbooks, continuing education, interview committees, team meetings, getting the classroom ready, strategizing, etc.
Meanwhile, I could almost justify what teachers are compensated…if all they had to do is teach! But, guess what? Now their job description has been compounded and multiplied (I substitute taught 6th Grade math yesterday!). They are now classroom counselors, social workers, expected to straighten out the mess of the increasing number of students who come to school from dysfunctional families, caregivers, educators of students with attention spans resembling hyper puppies, and judges giving rulings about misbehaving students whose parents still think they are angels in disguise.
As a substitute teacher this year I’ve encountered a student who continually fell asleep in the first class of the school day because he’d stay up until one o’clock in the morning playing video games; a student who did not come to school regulated four out of the five school days that week because he, evidently, was not taking his medication; a student who was disruptive numerous times in a class period and, literally, could not help it; and numerous students who came to school without having anything to eat and became more sluggish as the school day went on.
Teachers are expected to be the problem solvers of the messes that many parents drop off at school at 7:30 in the morning. For many parents, teachers and school are seen as cheap child care. Thus, when school gets canceled because of the weather, or even has a two hour delay, the number of irate parents goes off the charts. What are they expected to do with little Johnny on a Tuesday work day?
When I think of my school days growing up I can remember, and see the faces, of my teachers. I remember Mrs. Riley, Mrs. Nuzum, Mr. Cooper, Mrs. Waybright, Mr. Jenkins, Ms. Lewis, Mr. Trent, Ms. Gruber, and Mr. Burcham…fifty years later! I can not remember the names of my banker, doctor, pharmacist, tailor, and others. I can remember the name of my elementary principal, Mr. Morton, but not the name of the town’s mayor or police chief.
Teachers have been taken for granted and taken advantage of. They deserve more, and when I say they deserve more I’m not just talking about compensation!
Categories: children, coaching, Community, Freedom, Grandchildren, Humor, love, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: 7th Grade, dedicated teachers, educators, elementary school teachers, grade school, middle school, middle school boys, middle school teachers, teacher compensation, teachers, the teaching profession, West Virginia teachers, West Virginia teachers strike
Comments: 1 Comment
March 8, 2018
WORDS FROM W.W. March 8, 2018
It arrived yesterday, filled with familiar scents and memory items that no one else would see with any value.
It’s been three weeks since my dad passed away. My sister and brother-in-law have been sorting through his belongings after moving everything out of his apartment. It was a major task just to get it moved, but, for starters, she simply was moving it from one place to another…her house. The last week for her has been a time of sorting through the items that are reminiscent of our father.
In sending me “The Box” she was bringing part of Dad to our house. The box did not contain items that I necessarily need, but it contained some of who my dad was- kind of like a small museum!
I was looking at some of the contents this morning and pondering Pops.
I now have four University of Kentucky ball caps. One of them- a blue cap with a large letter “K” on the front- was worn by Dad, a UK grad, to the UK basketball game back in December of 2016 against Valparaiso. My sister took a picture of him in the lobby at Rupp Arena that night alongside former UK coach, Joe. B. Hall. Each of them had their “hurry-canes” by their side as the camera snapped the photo.
In the box are my mom’s Bible and one of Dad’s old Bibles. Each have their names scripted into the lower right corner leather.
There’s his personal calculator from about thirty years ago. He had not transitioned to using the calculator on a smart phone, because he didn’t have a smart phone. He had one of those flip phones that resembled the walkie talkie’s on Star Trek.
There’s a tube of Brylcreem! (“A little dab will do ya!”) That takes me back! Most of my uncles, plus my dad and grandfather, used the hair cream. That was the thing back in Eastern Kentucky. Dad didn’t need to worry about his hair blowing all over the place. The cream kept it firmly matted in place. When he started having some skin cancers on his scalp, ears, and nose he had to ease up on the Brylcreem. I’m not sure if Brylcreem has an expiration date!
There’s a trophy recognizing his achievement of finishing last in a euchre tournament back in 1975. Mom and Dad went to Florida with three other couples from our church, enjoyed the sun during the day and played euchre each evening. The trophy features a gold horse’s rump! I remember Dad telling me about it in detail. It always elicited a chuckle, remembering the razzing but mostly remembering his friends.
There’s a shoe horn still in mint unbent position. Putting his shoes on properly was an indication of my father’s emphasis on doing things correctly and not in a hurry.
There’s the photo album with the title on the cover “Our Son’s Wedding.” Yes, it’s our wedding from almost 39 years ago. As I look at our youthfulness, and who my parents were back in 1979 all I can say is “Wow!”
There are a few of my mom’s Longaberger baskets. She collected them like baseball cards!
And a stapler! And replacements blades for his electric shaver! And a cookbook put together by people from his church!
And handkerchiefs folded neatly, like they were a part of a J.C. Penney’s catalog display.
I’ve experienced families that descend like vultures on the possessions of the deceased. It’s an occasion where the lust for someone’s valuables devalues the life of the one who has passed on. My dad’s valuables are on the other end of the spectrum. I am like Don Quixote as I look at them, seeing rich memories in a shoe horn and value in a tube of Brylcreem.
I stare at the collection that brings stories and moments back to my mind. Saying goodbye to someone is never painless, but recalling the shared times and conversations…that’s priceless!
Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Grace, Grandchildren, Humor, love, marriage, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: deceased, estate sale, family photos, funeral, grief, grieving, Joe. B. Hall, Longaberger baskets, memorable moments, memories, passing away, possessions, saying goodbye, shared memories, the deceased, the things we leave behind, University of Kentucky
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March 4, 2018
WORDS FROM W.W. March 4, 2018
“
Back in November I made a promise to one of my basketball players. He was worse than pitiful shooting free throws during our practices. His shots weren’t even close! Clank! Bam! Crack! Airball!
And then I said it. “Verle, if you shoot 90% for the season I’ll shave my head!” That got his attention, plus all of his teammates. I figured my hair was as safe as an Old Spice deodorant stick in a middle school boy’s locker room.
Through the first 14 games of the season Verle did not shoot a free throw, and then in Game #15 he got fouled and got two shots. The first shot hit every part of the rim, bounced off the backboard, rolled around three times, stopped for coffee, took a nap…and then fell through. I called timeout to ice my own shooter, but Verle calmly stepped to the line and sank the second free throw after the timeout.
Those were the only two free throws he shot the whole season! I did not qualify my promise very well. Years from now Verle will be telling people that he was the leading free throw shooter on his 9th Grade team.
Tonight we have our team banquet at 5:00. At 6:30, Darla, my friend and barber, will be coming to the school to shave me down! And so today I had to worry about shampoo for the last time for the next couple of weeks or so. I had to pick up my comb and put the part in the left side of my hair. I’ve let it grow out for a while because I knew this day was coming. For the past couple of weeks I’ve resembled a college philosophy professor. The hair has started to curl around my ears. Two more weeks and I could have done one of those “man buns”!
Verle and his teammates are pumped for tonight’s festivities. They will feast on barbecue and all the fixings before their coach gets fixed! I made sure Darla would come and give me the buzz instead of one of them. I could just imagine Verle with an electric hair trimmer in his hands. As it is, his hair looks like two rows of wheat bowing over in the wind. I could just imagine what permanent damage he would do to the top of my scalp.
“Hey! Did you have some skin cancers on the top of your scalp and have to have some radiation treatments?”
“No, I had one of my basketball players give me a haircut!”
When Darla hits the ON switch tonight the chanting will start in a circle around her. The whooping will reverberate around the school cafeteria. My players will break into their usual rendition of “Who Let The Dogs Out?” and, hopefully, Darla’s hands will remain steady in the midst of her laughter.
And at the end I’ll resemble one of those Thanksgiving turkeys that have had all of their feathers plucked!
I’ve got to remember to bring a hat tonight! Wide brim, and one that sinks down low on my head!
Categories: children, coaching, Community, Freedom, Humor, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: basketball coach, basketball coaching, basketball players, basketball team, free throws, getting your hair cut, haircuts, head getting shaved, shaved head, unwise wager
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February 28, 2018
WORDS FROM W.W. February 28, 2018
There usually are loud moans and groans when I make the announcement, but I expect it. The pained expressions on the faces of my 7th Grade basketball team are the result of finding out that most of our practices will be held before school at 6:30 in the morning.
The eyes get big and the mouths drop open. There is a momentary weeping and gnashing of teeth…and then they accept it for what it is.
For the past several years I’ve made that unpopular decision for a few reasons, which none of the players think are good are to begin with. When we practice after school we have to share the gym with the 8th Grade team. Our middle school has two gyms, one a full-size court and the other a small gym that resembles an elementary school facility. When both teams practice at the same time we get 30-45 minutes in the larger gym and 30-45 minutes in the small gym.
6:30 A.M. practice…problem solved! And it helps the 8th Grade team, also!
Some of them come dragging to the front doors of the school looking a bit disheveled. I greet each one of them with words like “Good morning, handsome!” and “Looking good this morning!” Some snap out of their weariness and smile. Others are not yet to the conversational level of their day.
As they’ve gotten used to the the fact that practice is that early most of them have adjusted. There’s more spring in their step and a few more smiles as they head to school long before anyone else does.
The blood gets flowing and by 6:40 they are at full speed and wide awake. Last week I asked them if they would rather practice before school or after school. All but one said before!
Amazing! Thirteen players and five others who are designated the practice squad, and seventeen of the eighteen said 6:30 rules!
A couple of teachers have commented to me that they’ve noticed how my players are wide awake and ready for class on days we practice early. I’m sure that when the season ends in a couple of weeks that they’ll revert back to their usual school wake-up schedule, but for a few weeks they are learning what it means to be early risers.
It’s one way that I make sure they are committed to what we’re about. It’s one way to make sure they know I have higher expectations for them, and it’s one way I emphasize discipline. I wait at the front doors for each of the boys to arrive, but at 6:30 I head to the gym. You arrive late…too bad!
Tomorrow we have a game. It’s tie day. I’ve told each one of them to dress up for school tomorrow…shirt and tie. I’ll wear one for the game, also! When I told them that the teachers would be impressed they just stared at me, but when I said the young ladies would suddenly see how handsome they were…they grinned!
Categories: children, coaching, Community, Freedom, Humor, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: 6:30 A.M. getting up early, Basketball, basketball coaching, basketball practice, early mornings, early practice, middle school, middle school boys, middle school sports, middle school teachers, seventh grade boys, seventh graders
Comments: 1 Comment
February 26, 2018
WORDS FROM W.W. February 26, 2018
Cousins are cool!
I grew up living two to three hours away from most of my cousins. Most of them lived in the Paintsville area of eastern Kentucky. My grandparents on my mom’s side had a farm a few miles outside of town. It was on that farm that cousins got together to run around the yard, explore what was on the other side of the creek, and jump from the barn loft onto bales of hay.
We chased the barn cats, made noises at the hogs, and swung in the front porch swings as if they were their own playground.
John Jerry Whitt taught me how to play chess. About five years after he taught me the game I was runner-up in our high school’s tournament as a freshman.
Matthew Helton and his sister Kelly Michelle were three or four years younger, but fun to play with. I remember that they had cool toys, toys that I longed for but never received!
Judith Annette Helton was the feisty one. She was just as willing to kick you in the shins as to look at you. I was scared of her, but I was faster than she was. I idolized her brother, Danny Michael, because he played high school basketball. I never actually saw him play, so I’m not sure if he could walk and chew gum at the same time…but he played high school basketball.
There were Uncle Doc’s kids who all lived in California. They got back to Kentucky once every five years or so. I thought they were celebrities, being from California and all! Johnny Carroll, Barbara Gale, Suzanne, and Scott, they were the ones people craved to see. My first love crush was a cousin crush on Barbara Gale, but it was not meant to be. A cousin with a shaved head and freckles was not who she had in mind to hang around with. Three days later she was back in California anyway.
These were my cousins on the Helton side, and I have great memories of the occasions we were able to be together.
A week ago I saw a few of them again at my dad’s funeral and the visitation time the night before. In the midst of the grieving there was the reconnecting with one another.
Now, years later, we have shed our middle names. I’m no longer Billy Dean, but simply Bill. The others had abbreviated their cousin names and are now John, Judy, Matthew, and Kelly. Part of the maturing process in eastern Kentucky is to no longer be referred to by your first and middle names. Billy Ray Cyrus is the exception!
Seeing the cousins was like being back on the farm, and yet it was also a bit sad. I wished we could be together more, play John in another game of chess, get into a conversation with Matthew about American History (he being a high school teacher in that area), have Annette try to pinch me again, and be delighted by the warm personality and conversation with Kelly.
We’ve moved to different parts of the country, but the mental video of swinging in those front porch swings is still vivid in my mind.
Categories: children, Community, Grandchildren, Humor, love, marriage, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: aunts and uncles, cousins, Eastern Kentucky, family farm, front porch swings, middle names, Paintsville Kentucky, relatives
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February 23, 2018
WORDS FROM W.W. February 21, 2018
The first time I was on an airplane was in 1974 when I flew from Chicago O’Hare to Rock Island, Illinois. It was a short trip, but no one told me that the conveyor belt that I put my suitcase on DIDN’T go all the way to the plane. I didn’t know! No one told me…and I wore the same clothes the whole weekend in Rock Island.
That’s a symbolic picture of my relationship with various airlines. Confusing and not on the same page communication-wise!
We flew back from West Virginia Tuesday night…and Wednesday morning!
There are more people flying these days than ever before, creating competition between the airlines and heightened anxiety and new levels of stress for the passengers. Last night I asked my wife where she would like to go for spring break. Her answer, dripping with frustration from the recent trip to West Virginia and back, was “Anywhere that does not involve an airplane!” It is a comment that signals a trend. Kind of like when you see a picture of a delicious looking entree in the restaurant’s menu, order it, but when the plate comes it does not come close to resembling the menu pic! Airline commercials are filled with smiling passengers, courteous flight attendants, and scenes of joy-filled peace, and then there is the reality!
One of the things that every airlines seem to do these days is push their credit cards. Sign up and receive so many flying miles that usually equals a “free ticket.” Free is a skewed term. It usually means an annual fee of just under $100.
It seems that on every flight I’m a passenger these days there is “the smoozing moment” of welcoming the elite, premier, gold, platinum, platinum plus, platinum pro, and other upper crust people who have paid the extra money to be recognized on every flight. Listen! Do we really need to give them a special welcome and have the flight attendants slobber all over themselves? I wonder if they did that on the Mayflower ship…gave a special welcome to those of the Puritan Premier club? If the plane goes down will the elite have a softer landing?
I know, I know, I’m cynical! It comes fairly natural after being squeezed up to the window of Seat 14A for three and a half hours. This is my rant!
I also know that every airlines has to contend with some people who are so obnoxious and demanding that even the Baptists wouldn’t take them. They are the entitled who could possibly be a part of the elite.
What’s the answer? In regards to obnoxious passengers, I have no clue, but in regards to how the airlines treats its customers…ask Chick-fil-A to come in and do some training for you!
Categories: children, Community, Freedom, Humor, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized
Tags: airline passenegrs, airlines, airports, American Airlines, baggage claim, elite passenergs, flight, flying, O'Hare Airport, planes, Premier Plus passengers, stress, West Virginia
Comments: 2 Comments
February 20, 2018
WORDS FROM W.W. February 19, 2018
It’s a small apartment located at the end of the first floor in the Wyngate Senior Living Complex. Dad has lived there for about the last three years, making new friends and acquaintances with other travelers of life’s final chapters.
Later on today and tomorrow my sister and I will spend some time over there going through some of his possessions, and breathing in the memories.
Dad passed from this life to the next on February 15 at the age of 89 years and 8 months. His was a life well-lived!
His apartment is a testimony to who he was and what had become entwined in his life.
There are the oxygen tanks that testify to his health limitations. Like a changing autumn landscape, I had noticed the changing interior of his apartment when I would come for one of my visits to southern Ohio from Colorado. Medications, the medical supplies a diabetic would need, blood pressure monitor, and (Sorry, Dad!) a good supply of adult diapers, his apartment spoke about that winter season of life that most of us will arrive at.
Scattered through the living room, bedroom, and closet are numerous items with the initials “U.K.” on them. Dad graduated from The University of Kentucky. He was proud of his Wildcats, suffering through many a football season and much happier most basketball seasons. There are UK shirts, hats, mugs, plates, flags, and the 1951 UK Yearbook. He had attended Kentucky after getting out of the Navy, but it wasn’t easy. He had married Mom, welcomed Child #1, our brother, Charlie, and provided for his growing family as he wore the hats labeled student, employee, husband, and father. Things were not easy during his UK years, and yet those years shaped him with the elements of resolve, perseverance, and organization.
Come to think of it, using the word “scattered” to begin that last paragraph would be the antithesis of who Dad was. His apartment is organized. His papers are organized. His cupboards are organized. By golly, his dresser drawers are organized!
There are Rotary remembrances. The service club had been a part of Dad’s life for close to forty years, joining the Ironton, Ohio chapter not long after our family moved to the town in 1969. Service defined Pops! He fit well in the organization that was sewed into the community’s fabric. But he also served the church, served his neighbors, and served our mother in their sixty-five years of marriage. He served as her caregiver in the last few years of her life, and at Wyngate he did those little acts of service. I remember my sister telling me that Dad tutored a woman who lived in the apartment next to him on how to give herself an insulin shot. She was scared to death, but Dad was able to bring down her anxiety about being poked and help her jump over that hurdle.
Pictures and pictures! Photo albums filled with pictures…framed pictures…pictures attached to his refrigerator…pictures with meaning and memories. The pictures give “snapshots” of his journey…family, church, laughter, friendships.
Going through Dad’s things, I realize, is important for my walk of grief. It’s ointment for my aching soul as I cry out for my father to come and sit beside me. Most of the things in his apartment will end up going to Goodwill or to someone else who needs furniture or dishes, but for now I need to be amongst “his things”. It’s a part of letting go and finding peace.
Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, Humor, love, marriage, Parenting, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: Dad, elderly parents, grieving, medications, memories, passing away, pictures, possessions, Rotary Club, senior adults, senior living complex, the things we leave behind
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February 11, 2018
WORDS FROM W.W. February 9, 2018
Yesterday I posted “the list”! The list is the 13 seventh grade boys who have been invited to be a part of the Timberview Middle School interscholastic basketball team. It’s a list of celebration that had 13 signs of relief breathed upon it.
Not on the list are the 28 others who I had to say “Sorry!” to. Telling seventy percent of the boys that they were cut is worse than a couple of hemorrhoids living side by side…okay, maybe not that bad!
“Cutting kids” is also a life lesson. In every aspect of life there are those who are left off the list. Last spring I applied for a head coaching position for basketball at a local high school. About a week later I received an email informing me that I was not one of the finalists. There was a moment of indignation, but I got over it. Two weeks later I interviewed for another position and was a finalist, but was still not the final pick. In both cases I was not the one. It’s how life works.
For each of the students who tried out for the seventh grade team I did an evaluation that I will willingly share with any of them who ask me. I made the point to those who were not chosen that if they work on specific skills their chances of making next year’s team will improve. Some will make attempts, and others will find other things that may be more of a passion than basketball.
Parents don’t like kids to be cut. In fact, we use softer language as I did in the first paragraph. We “invite” a few students to be on the interscholastic team. If you hear the students talk, however, they will usually use one of two terms. They “made the team”, or they “got cut.”
Some day these same kids will apply for college or submit a resume for a job. When they are rejected I wonder if their parents will correct them and say, “No, honey! You just weren’t invited to take the position!”
Pain and disappointment lead to self-discovery. “I’m sorry to inform you” letters cause adolescents to realize that the world does not spin on their personal axis. If someone is never disappointed he/she will seldom reach for something that is still beyond their reach.
One boy came to me Friday afternoon. He’s a good-sized kid, who I thought would be one of the 13, but his skill deficiencies rose to the surface in the four days of tryouts. “Coach, I was really disappointed when I saw that I didn’t make the team, but I’m okay with it now.” He’s a good kid who I will have in class Monday and Tuesday for the teacher I’ll be subbing for. I told him I’d share my evaluation with him so he can work on a few things. He appreciated that. In the course of a few hours he went from taking it personally to knowing that I care about him. In regards to him, disappointment will make him stronger and cause him to work even harder.
Cutting kids is the hardest thing I do as a coach, and yet one of the most important things I do.
On Monday morning I’ll convince 13 other seventh grade boys that the world does not revolve around them either!
Categories: children, coaching, Community, Humor, Parenting, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: Basketball, basketball coaching, coaching, cutting kids, Disappointment, making the cut, making the team, middle school, middle school boys, middle school sports, middle schoolers, not being invited, not making the team, rejection letters, Seventh Grade
Comments: 1 Comment
February 6, 2018
WORDS FROM W.W. February 6, 2018
The freshmen boy’s basketball team I coach at The Classical Academy (TCA) In Colorado Springs has been abysmal in their free throw shooting this basketball season. Three of our five losses came in games where we shot under 50% from the foul line.
Before we had played any games way back in November I had challenged one of my players (I’ll just refer to him as “Verle”!) to improve his shooting. Each day in practice we’d do two or three rounds where each player shoots ten free throws and reports their results.
Verle would tell me, “Coach, I made 2 out of 10.”
“Coach, I was 3 for 10!”
Once in a great while it would be, “Coach, I was 5 for 10!”
Finally, one day I said to him, “Verle, if you shoot 90% for the season I’ll shave my head!”
His eyes lit up!
“Really!”
“Really!”
His eyes squinted together, his way of telling me that he was up to the challenge. In my opinion, his look of determination did not change the fact that he was a master bricklayer as a free throw shooter. Quickly he informed all of his teammates of the coach-player bet. They whooped and hollered about it.
Last night we played our 15th game of the season. Verle had not yet shot a free throw all season. In the fourth quarter of a game where we had a comfortable lead it happened. He got hacked!
The one stat that each of my players were aware of was that Verle had not shot a free throw all season. He was zero for zero! There was instant excitement on the bench of what might happen. The junior varsity players waiting behind our bench knew also and they were intently watching.
He stepped to the line, received the basketball, bounced it twice, and then launched. With minimum rotation the ball headed towards the rim. It hit the front of the rim, bounced and hit the back of the rim, and then fell through the basket. My bench erupted. The JV players joined them in the celebration. Verle looked over at me on the bench with the same squinted eyes look.
I called time out!
In basketball a coaching ploy that is often used is called “icing the shooter.” It’s the idea of making the free throw shooter have to think about the difficulty of the shot he/she is about to attempt. If someone makes the first of two shots it’s the idea of getting him away from the spot that feels comfortable for a few moments before he attempts the second shot.
This, however, might be the first time a coach has called time out to “ice” his own shooter. The players gathered around me, and someone told Verle why I had called time out.
“Coach, are you trying to ice me? Coach, I’ve got ice in my veins!”
“Great! Maybe you’ll freeze up on your shot!”
The bench was excited. The JV players were yelling. Verle walked over to the free throw line, cast one more look of determination at me, and readied himself. Behind me on the bench a couple of players were making buzzing sounds to mimic an electric razor.
He shot! Time stood still! The ball hit nothing but net! I put my head in my hands!
The whole bench, plus the JV team all launched into a symphony of electric razor buzzing. Verle gave me the squinted eye look one more time.
Now I must try to get him into another free throw shooting situation in the final four games, but considering it took fifteen games before he attempted his first one that is going to be a tough task. He may come down with a two week flu, or fake a sprained ankle.
I walked into the locker room to the sound of the whole team “buzzing!”
My hair is toast!
Categories: children, coaching, Freedom, Humor, Story, Teamwork, Uncategorized, Youth
Tags: basketball coaching, coaching ploys, coaching strategy, free throw, free throw shooting, icing the shooter, making foul shots, shaving my head, shooting foul shots, The Classical Academy
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