Playing Time
December 20, 2013
I spent just enough time sitting on the bench during my high school basketball and college football careers to know I hated it, and I hurt for those who sat on the bench all the time. Even as a headstrong, self-centered adolescent, it occurred to me that not being able to play as much as one might want, or not at all, had to be a terrible feeling.
This greatly affected my approach to coaching football. As defensive coordinator, I would see who was not engaged on the first two offensive units and begin to teach these “extras” defensive skills and strategies. Several players found their niche and contributed either as starters or key reserves on defense.
I made it a point at the subvarsity level to give playing time every week to every player who was on time to and active at every practice that week; and I tried to give a start to every player who met all our team rules and responsibilities for the season.
I know from the reactions of these players and their parents that their attitude about our program improved as they became increasingly engaged with our football team. I saw also that they seemed to support their classroom teachers more, as well as other aspects of our school.
I’ve lost track of them, but I suspect these players and parents continued to be positive voices for the school for many more years – among the loud voices who would not support the transfer of sports from schools to community groups and private clubs. They would advocate more opportunities to be a part of school teams, starting in earlier grades.
No Returns or Refunds
January 18, 2013
The “Boxing Day” tradition of New Zealand, like most of the current or former British Empire, is to return to stores on the day after Christmas the unwanted or ill-fitting gifts of Christmas. My wife and I exchanged no gifts this year, except for the gift of time with each other and our China-based son and his wife in New Zealand. So we had nothing to return, and we’ve had moments to savor.
Outside our window on Christmas Day was an extinct volcano rising 758 feet above New Zealand’s Bay of Plenty coast. Its peak was hidden in clouds sent by the remnants of Cyclone Evan. We couldn’t see the top of Mt. Maunganui; but our fragment of the Roberts family who had gathered for this holiday, below the equator and on the other side of the International Dateline, decided on a “Christmas climb” anyway.
Attempting a challenge whose goal is shrouded in uncertainty is an every-season experience of coaches, which may be the opiate that draws so many men and women to that vocation for so long, and consumes coaches so far beyond what are reasonable hours for most other occupations.
Even in the more mundane existence of a state high school association administrator, it is the unknown of each year, week and day that energizes the grind. How boring it would be to know what’s at the end of each climb. How exciting it can be to come to a problem-solving table with good ideas and also with the expectation that the best ideas will come out of collaboration with others’ good ideas.
I count myself among the fortunate folks who, at the end of most days and weeks and years, do not feel inclined to want to return the gifts that each has brought. And I’m still attracted to the discovery of what the next cloud-shrouded climb may reveal.