A Coach and His Player

I think i'm like everyone when it comes to Friday night football. Nothing beats an evening with like-minded people, pulling for the same outcome, encompassed by the sights and sounds of high school football. Few people, when asked, could accurately describe the atmosphere that surrounds a friday night on the field, in the stands, or tailgating in the parking lot before the game, though most would give a valiant try. Much as we like, words just don't do it justice. Despite that, years later men recount their days on the gridiron with as much detail, passion, and pride as the boys who actually played in the game the night before. To them, the picture in their heads is as clear as it was twenty years ago. Often, their stories sound very similar. And that's a good thing. It's nice to know that no one can take away our moments and our memories, even if they're only in our heads.

The next best thing to our actual memories are the photographs that capture a moment that may never come again. When our memories fail us, when words just aren't enough, we can flip to the photos and all of a sudden we're back to a season, a game, a place we thought we'd left behind. We remember a friend, a coach, a teammate, and a moment that defined us. And sometimes a picture pops up and answers an often-asked question and explains something that some people have never understood, until then.

I'll admit, when i first became a coach's widow, er wife, I really had no idea what i was getting myself into. Sure, i expected practices every afternoon, and of course the big game on Friday. I was ready for that, and excited to be a part of it. But the rough stuff? Let's just say it's a live and learn kind of thing. The first time you hear your husband's name shouted from the stands with an epithet and not a cheer, it hurts; and the second and the third . . .? nah, it doesn't get any easier. Fortunately, skin gets thicker as the games add up. And as the games add up, so too does the real picture of football. How many times do our coaches give rides home to kids who wouldn't play football if they didn't? How many times do coaches hand out lunch money to kids who may not eat that day? How many times do coaches open their homes to boys who, at that particular moment, have nowhere else to go? I'll say it again--that's the stuff I was totally unprepared for. Yet, THAT'S the stuff that I love the most.

A couple of years ago, I attempted to answer an oft-asked question about the coaching profession. Why would anyone put in the hours, put up with the criticism, the uncertainty of a career determined by teenagers, for what equals out to less than minimum wage? Sure, it sounds great going into it. Teach a couple of classes, math or social studies maybe, then spend the afternoon calling plays, leading drills, and blowing the whistle. Sit back at the end of the day and watch the film, making notes while sipping a glass of sweet tea from the comfort of the recliner.
Ha! If only the job were that simple, yet the game really is. Take a group of young men, share with them your knowledge, inspire them with your passion, and teach them to respect the game. In between that, teach them to catch a pass, throw a ball, read a defense, run a route, and handle wins and losses with equal grace.

When I first saw the picture on the left, it hit me. There's the answer: Why do coaches spend more time with each other than their own families? Why do they stay up late writing reference letters for kids they haven't seen in two years? Why do they take a fall sport and turn it into a year round job? Because some day one of those boys will call and ask you to be the best man at his wedding. Because one day the kid you put your arm around will show up at the field to watch you coach the state championship game. One day the kid you were toughest on will come back and thank you for not letting him quit. One day the kid you thought hated you will tell you he hopes one day that HIS kid will play for you.

Thanks, Abbey, for the great picture from Friday night. We have no idea what is being said between those two, and that's the point. Some things are better left between a coach and his player.

What Mom Really Means

Last week i wrote (vented) about words and phrases that Tucker and Tanner frequently use that, how shall i put this, drive me nuts. Well, i figured that if i were going to dissect their language and all the hip, new things kids are saying these days, it would only be fair to analyze my own vocabulary, all the unhip, old-fashioned things we moms keep repeating. After thinking long and hard about this blog, and all the important statements, questions, commands, complaints, etc, I should address, i realized that this will not only be good for Tucker and Tanner (and one day Tot), but billy might also really benefit from a deeper understanding of many of my utterings. What really got me started was at dinner tonight as i'm serving up chili in bowls. The utensils are on the table, the drinks have been poured, and the condiments for chili within arm's reach. Coach looks at me and says, "Do we have any onions?"

Now let me just set the stage. It is thursday night, after 8:00. the three of them have just returned from football practice and it is almost the end of a very busy week: practices, revival, bootcamp, homework. I, too, had just returned from a shopping trip with a less than willing partner who decided that since i wouldn't share my chick-fil-a coke with him, not only would he not eat his nuggets but he would also scream the whole way home, the whole 17 miles from exit to exit, screaming despite the radio and the music HE likes, despite the windows rolled down and the wind whipping through his golden blonde hair, despite my promises of his own drink when we get home.

Ahem, back to the onions. What Coach really means by asking if we have onions is "I want onions with my Chili." So what Mom really means when she says, "no we don't have any" is, you have a better chance of growing hair on your head right now than getting me to cut onions on a Thursday night at 8:15. So that led to this and all the other WMRM's:

What Mom Really Means When . . .

I ask you, "Tucker are those your shorts on the floor in front of the TV?"
WMRM: PICK those shorts up and do with them whatever needs to be done!

I ask you if you want me to help you study for your test.
WMRM: Bring me your study sheets we are GOING to study.

Has anyone checked the mail?
WMRM: somebody/ anybody has about 5 seconds to thrust a handful of junk mail and bills into my face.

Is Tate in there?
WMRM: Basically the same as the above. SOMEONE put a hand on that baby and get him out of the toilet, off the kitchen table, or away from my wallet PRONTO!

This is your school project and it's your job to do well on it.
WMRM: You and i are working on this project together buddy, b/c don't you realize that if you turn in some piece of crap project the teacher is going to think I"M the one who is lazy and uncreative. your name may be on the posterboard, but my reputation is at stake.

"Hey, let's do something different for supper tonight. that sounds fun, right?"
WMRM: Daddy is working tonight and you boys are stuck with me, so basically it's whatever i can find in the fridge/freezer. now smile:)

Don't stay out too late tonight--film can wait."
WMRM: I'll see you about 4:00 this morning after you've watched film, done laundry, and eaten God only knows what after midnight. Just be careful coming home:)

And finally, You boys are killing me!!
WMRM: Despite the fact that i rarely get a moment of rest, diapers never go away, and homework is sometimes a nightmare, I couldn't imagine my life without y'all!