Dear Coach

Dear Coach,

My heart hurts for you. That's all I can say right now. With every interception, every fumble, every incomplete pass, my heart hurts and my stomach turns. I know it's silly. I know there are people out there without jobs, without homes, people who struggle to put food on the table, and my heart hurts from watching a football game. Silly. It's only a game, they say. But it's not. It's more than a game.

It's where we live and how often we move. It's who our kids are friends with and where we put down roots. It's where we go to church and who our kids want to be when they grow up. It's more than a game.

It's more than a job. It's potty-training a toddler in the field house because that's where we spend so much time. It's riding bikes around the track while Daddy lines the field for the game. Family time, we call it. It's falling asleep at night with HUDL in my ear and arranging our summer vacation around the GHSA dead week. It's hours and hours and hours of film, white board, chalk talk, and pep talk. It's more hours than most people could possibly imagine and it hurts to lose. The stands fill up, fans cheer, and then, win or lose, they go home to enjoy their weekend. Coaches take it all home with them, into the weekend, and back to the gridiron on Monday with a whole new resolve.

I wish I knew what to say to you when I see you on Saturday morning. I wish I had magic words that made the knot in your stomach go away, but there's not much this sideline cheerleader can say and I know that all too well by now. But I know you, and I know you'll be back at it tomorrow, planning, scheming, rearranging, and hatching out new plans for Monday. I swell with pride when I watch you coach those boys who are like sons to you. I burst a little more when I see you off the field with them, talking to them about their grades in school, their attitudes with their parents, their girlfriends-- stuff you don't get paid to do. But none of that matters on Friday night and some folks will judge you by the score on the scoreboard. Hopefully one day they will see what I see.

No, it isn't just a game, and it isn't an easy job. But sometimes I think the hardest job is being the one you come home to.