COLUMN: Lure of coaching

It is, or for sure can be, one of the greatest experiences a sports-minded person can have.

“It” can be both thankless and extremely rewarding at the same time.

Not many can, or will do it.

But for those who give it a whirl, there is comfort in the fact, at least among newcomers to the gig, that the hair you just pulled out has the ability to grow back.

What could it be that takes a normally sane individual from calm, cool and collected one minute to arm-waving, sideline sprinting insanity the next?

Coaching.

I took the plunge into the ranks of coaching several years ago while living in the Seattle area. I felt I had sufficient experience and knowledge that would help me shape some young minds by giving them a physical outlet for the joys and pains of that thing we call growing up.

It is entirely debatable as to whether or not I achieved “growing up” status, I’m pretty sure I know which way an ex-wife would vote about the maturity factor in me given the chance.

I played all the major sports when I was younger, some with success and others with “at least you tried” as the only reward.

But even the aforementioned mantra created something in me that meant I had to stay, any way possible, connected to sports. Coaching, may not have been in my blood, but it always buzzed about my head, albeit sometimes like an annoying campground mosquito.

So, when opportunity came a-knocking (more like a-begging in hindsight) I leaped headfirst into the fray. It seems no one else wanted to coach the Little League team my son was picked to be a part of in what they called, no-kidding, a “draft”.

As a background, Kirkland, Washington, some of you may remember, actually won the Little League World Series, beating Taiwan back somewhere in the early 1990s. A spectacular feat that focused the sports camera on a Seattle east side suburb had the expected result of exponentially increasing the number of kids who wanted to be part of that.

Coaching demand went through the roof and I was right there a few years later to bump my noggin on the rafters.

Not only did demand soar for coaches, the World title created an egotistical bulge in the importance of Kirkland’s youth baseball programs.

Little League tryouts became “drafts” with a new cluster of coaches nervously pacing, clipboards in hand, hoping their “top picks” would still be there when it was time to select the next World champ.

So, armed with some pretty good youth baseball experience gleaned from being in the same ballpark as Billings American Legion legend and coaching deity, Ed Bayne, I was destined to get involved.

We had success, as in winning some games, despite the occasional outfielder who would sit down while playing his position, usually facing the wrong direction while blowing dandelion seeds off the stem, oblivious to the ball that bounced past him and rolled to the fence.

From baseball, I “evolved” into coaching basketball, a sport from among the “big three” that I knew the least about. I was, to say the least, no “Xs and Os” type coach. My philosophy was simple...have fun and put the round ball into the basket more than the other guys do, then let's go have a root beer float.

But it was in youth basketball, in this case fifth and sixth graders, that I began to understand the wonderfully gratifying and simultaneously bizarre lure of coaching.

The Kirkland Park and Recreation Department would pick the teams for the most part, keeping local school kids together as much as possible. My son, as a courtesy to the coach (Me), was automatically put on my team, which was good because, if I may say so, he was the best player out there. More on that in a minute.

Actually, every parent out there thinks, or at least hopes deep down that their boy or girl will be the next big star. The stats are against it.

We also had a big, strong young boy who had Downs Syndrome. Matt, was a great part of the team, he had an amazing sense of humor and outlook on life. He had been shuffled from team to team, which almost always resulted in zero playing time despite league rules requiring all kids on the team be given at least one-quarter of playing time on the court every game. I’m proud to say I made sure that rule was adhered to.

It quickly became a goal, among the kids on the team, including my son I’m so proud to say, and without prompting from coach Chuck, that before the year endedMatt, was going to score a basket.

The opportunity came in the last game of the year, one in which Matt’s teammates formed a blockade and got him the ball. He threw it up to the basket, it swirled around the rim….then dropped off without tickling the twines.

No one gave a rat’s behind. Matt got the ball up to the rim and in his mind he did more than score. The young players, parents and coaches left the gym misty-eyed that day.

And I became a better coach.

From basketball I went to a local junior high and took control, as much as an adult can, of the eighth and ninth graders who played football. The school hadn’t produced more than one win a year in 25 years.

We won four of six that first year and changed the program.

Matt was our manager. As strong as he was and as much confidence as I had gained that I could help him learn football enough to ensure his safety and fun, I wanted to let him play linebacker.

Yeah, he was that strong and when focused, wow!!

From that year on, my life changed in a positive way thanks to coaching.

I never was an arm-flailing sideline runner, but I understand the passion that creates one.

The incident that brought it full circle for me was several years after I last coached and before I moved back home to my beloved Montana.

My son had a reunion-type gathering where several of the players from that first junior high football team were in attendance.

One after another, they greeted me with a warm hug and a “good to see you COACH”.

That moniker was a badge of honor to me.

Coaches are often a different kind of cat. But the majority of them are good, caring people who do what so many like to complain about, yet so few step forward to take the reins and assume the responsibility.

They ought to fire that coach, that would fix things.

As for me, I wouldn’t trade a minute of my time on the sidelines for anything other than the births of my three, now grown now children, all of whom played a variety of sports.

And I’m very grateful for the parents and/or teachers who did step forward to help my kids learn a sport and all the wonderful things that can go with it.