Coach G.

I am a glutton for punishment. There's no other explanation. Monday night I brought TheBoy to his school at 7:00 PM so that we could sign him up for intramural basketball. This is the third phase of his basketball career, the fifth and sixth grade level. They have a purely instructional league for first and second grade; an intermediate league for third and fourth grade, and now, for TheBoy, the big league.

He's tall for his age - 95% as of his yearly checkup earlier this year - and at the bus stop there are two sixth grade boys, both of which are shorter than TheBoy. He's been working diligently on his dribbling and shooting, spending his "chillaxing" time after school out in the driveway shooting baskets. Kinda like I did when I was a kid. He likes basketball best of all because he's pretty good at it - being tall allows him to grab the ball first; practicing a lot gets the ball through the net.

And now I'll be coaching him.

Yep. I checked off the box that said "Would you be interested in coaching?" I made it very clear that I was only interested in being an assistant coach - it has been nearly 30 years since I played in any organized form, and the rules and drills are a hazy memory. I might offer to coach next year, but for this season I want to help out only, not be the guy in charge. I haven't offered to coach any of his sports until now mainly because of Cub Scouts, but where this is my last year as Cubmaster, I'm in a position to take on new roles.

I'm both excited and scared as hell.

My dad coached my last year in intramural basketball. We had the worst record in the whole league - I think we won one game because the other team had the wrong time and didn't show up - but every kid played his allotted time. Dad rotated everyone fairly and didn't give in to the temptation to play his best players heavily or put his own kid in more - he made sure everyone got the same amount of game time.

(There's a funny story about Dad talking to an overzealous father who was angry that his "superstar" kid wasn't playing more, and was overly vocal about his displeasure. At one point Dad went over to "talk" to "superdad", and, while smiling the entire time, told him in no uncertain terms that: a) This was his team, and no one was going to tell him how to run it; b) the "superstar" was playing just as much as everyone else on the team; and c) if superdad didn't shut his mouth, Dad was going to ram his whistle so far down the guy's throat he'd have to take his pants off to announce the halftime).


I'd like to think I'm a little more diplomatic, but there are times that my father's influence shines through brightly.

I'll do my best to foster and nurture not only TheBoy's love of basketball, but for all the boys on the team. One of the great things about basketball at this level is that it's one of the easiest sports to practice - even soccer requires cleats and an open expanse of field. All you need is a pair of sneakers and a basketball - if you don't have a hoop handy, you can practice dribbling and passing. Basketball is one of the few sports that you can practice alone for most of the game - passing being the notable exception - and develop excellent skills.

The town complex has a six hoop enclosed court; the elementary school has an outdoor court as well as an indoor court. The high school and junior high both have outdoor nets near the sporting fields. The city next to us has a park just over the city line with a number of courts. The local community college - as well as the YMCA - have spots on the weekends that are free for anyone to come in and shoot hoops in the indoor courts. The excuse of  "I couldn't find a place to practice" rings especially hollow here.

I grew up in the 1970s and 1980s, one of the greatest times to be a basketball fan in New England. It was the heyday of the Boston Celtics - truly the Dream Team - with Larry Bird, Robert Parish, Kevin McHale, Dennis Johnson, Danny Ainge, M.L. Carr, and Red Auerbach as coach. In 1981, when I was the same age as TheBoy, the Celtics won the NBA championship, a feat they would repeat in 1984 and 1986. I spent many afternoons out in the driveway replaying the highlights of the last Celts game against my steel backboard.


And now I'm going to try to pass along my knowledge of the only sports game I've ever truly loved to my son - I hope I don't screw this up...

That is all.