When you are the coach, you get listened to . . . or you are off the team no matter what. When you are coach, it goes beyond that. As one team member put it, “Coach don’t take no bull and you better believe it.”
Ah, but what happens when the coach begins slipping . . . begins forgetting . . . begins just looking off and away? It was mid-season and we had just lost a game to a team we had repeatedly whipped for damn near twenty years. I was Coach’s assistant for the last ten years. We weren’t dropping wins left, right, and center, but we were looking bad.
I sought out an old, old friend who had lived and died over football games his entire life. His teams were rarely ever heard of, but his teams gave every effort and won a considerable number of games but never moved up to even mediocre clashes. He had been a supporter for decades . . . I mean he was getting really old, but each time I heard him he made sense. He was one of those people whom you ask about the odds for betting and what he says make sense or cents, depending how often you asked and who the opposition was.
I stopped by his place recently and knocked on the door. I thought no one was there, it took so long for the door to open. Eventually, I heard stirring going on in the inside and just waited. Soon the door opened and Willy saw me and smiled. I said “You still making sense and cents?” He nodded and then gestured for me to come in. I followed him to the kitchen. I sat down and soon I had a cup of wonderful coffee. I know it wasn’t possible but the room smelled like football . . . not stinky old socks football, but like, “I’m going to kick your ass football.”
“Bob,” I started and then stopped. Bob spoke, “I was hoping you would drop by Jerry . . . but from what I’ve seen, I think you are about two weeks late. He looked at me and raised both eyebrows. I responded. “Yes, I know I’m two weeks late. What are we going to do about it?” He spoke and said, “We are going to win and get into the tournament. I don’t know about a win after that, but if we make it look so good, we can perhaps fool the crowds.
Each day prior to our next game, I would pick up Bob and drop him off at the little coffee shop around the corner with a direct view of the field. Bob picked out a couple team members and wrote comments down about them. Bob and I made up new attacks and surprises.
Coach looked like he was just going through the motions . . . like he expected to lose and it just didn’t matter.
Nothing changed much on Saturday . . . except I hobbled onto the field like I was hurt with Bob behind me. At half time, we were up three points, which was great compared to what we had been doing before. I made a suggestion to Coach and said, “I’ve got an idea.” Coach never asked for details he just said, “Go ahead with it. Maybe our luck has changed.”
The third quarter began with almost the same old plan we had been using for half the season. This time, we had two upstanding and eager players ready to run until glory. The opposition was almost as surprised as our own team when the runner scored. With our team surprised and awake, we finally stopped the other team and scored twice more. At the locker room celebration after the game, Coach was smiling, the team was happy, but not as thrilled as we thought they should be. The coach spoke, and said, “I’ve got a great surprise for you. An old friend, who wants to make one big win before possibly retiring will be my new assistant coach. I would like you all to give Jerry and his buddy Bob Baxter a big thank you for all they did this year.” Bob and I merely looked at each other. I reached over and closed his mouth while he reached over and closed mine.
