A Return to Coaching

I got roped into coaching Kyle when he was three years old. His very first t-ball team needed a dad to assist, and I was reluctant to help. I had very little experience playing baseball as a kid and hadn't followed the sport much as an adult. Fortunately, coaching t-ball isn't as much coaching as it is positive behavioral reinforcement, so I was qualified to help. Seriously, t-ball had three rules: 

1. Don't throw the metal bat 

2. Follow the white line

3. Don't gang tackle, that's a different sport

That's it. It's that simple. It tends to get a bit more complicated as they get older, especially baseball which has dozens of quirky rules and unique scenarios that make it a special sport to play. I was Kyles head baseball coach until he was about 9, 10 years old when I decided to let others assume that role. 

But not basketball. I continued to coach Kyle at basketball up until his passing last month. In fact, in Kyle's final game he scored 14 points, and our team won 50-14. Kyle only wanted to play rec league basketball, which his mother and I supported given his seemingly yearlong commitment to practicing baseball and all of his other extracurricular commitments. So, when he died my initial reaction was that my days of coaching, too, were indeed over. 

But in the days following his passing I began to feel quite strongly about finishing out the basketball season. While my son may be gone, my love for basketball and for our team is very much there. And any opportunity to be close to my son in some capacity, I'll take it. I know some were surprised, although supportive, of my decision to return, but unable to process how I garnered the strength to do so. My first practice back was this past Thursday, and I had moments of doubt. The drive to the gym was painful and awkward. Normally a time reserved for he and I to discuss the game and strategy was filled with silence with the exception of the drone of the radio. But practice went well. The boys hustled, they listened, they executed, and we ended with a huddle break down dedicated to Kyle.

On Saturday we played a doubleheader, and it couldn't have started any worse. We got down 9-0 and trailed the entire time before losing a game that was not as close as the final score indicated. The boys played lackadaisically - they were out of position on defense, lacked effort on the boards and played carelessly with the ball on offense. At point one of my players had his hands in his pockets on defense to which I remarked, "Why are your hands in your pockets? Are you playing basketball or waiting in line at a bar?"

I was incensed and ready to light the fire of all fires underneath my players when two things dawned on me:

1. This is recreational basketball played by 12- and 13-year-old children.

2. These boys are grieving, too.

They lost their friend and teammate. An emotional leader and talented player they were adjusting with how to survive and thrive just like I am. I asked them how they thought their performance was during the first game and they all agreed they played poorly. I reminded them that effort and attitude and commitment to each other doesn't require any talent. It just requires a desire to be better and compete.

The second game was the polar opposite of the first. The boys executed, they competed and played with an edge and effort that would have made Kyle proud. I know I was certainly proud. Honestly, I didn't even care if we won* or lost as long as we played hard and hard fun.

The games themselves were a microcosm of my life recently - disappointment, failure, sadness, lethargy, attitude, togetherness, effort and happiness. It's hard not to find the parallels between sports and real life which is one of the reasons I think athletics resound with so many people. 

Yesterday evening, Leah played a game in her first season of basketball and scored her first point at the free throw line. Her team is raw, young and learning on the fly. It's hard for me not to coach from the bleachers or critique her performance. Kyle loved watching Leah compete. It really bothered him that he missed a number of her fall softball games as they conflicted with his middle school baseball practices. He loved competition and loved his sister even more and would constantly text me asking for updates on her and the team's performance. If you watch the video below, you'll see Leah's shot bounce twice before it goes through the net. And if you listen closely, you'll hear me yell, "Money" as she releases the ball. It was her shot. And it was my voice and video, but it's unmistakenly Kyle - shooting his shot and his mouth off at the same time. 

* (we won 34-28)