Two Steps and 10 Year Olds

For any of you who have ever tried to coach a little league team you can envision in your mind the experiece I had last night with my little Jr. Jazz team.

It was our first practice since before the Christmas break and the boys were a bit unruly.  Nothing too terrible but I was working harder than usual.

After rushing home to change into something I could actually move around comfortably in on a court subsequently rushing to practice, dragging my own 10 year old along the way, we showed up about 5 minutes late to find some of the gym patrons using the court reserved for our use.

I was about to just kick them off but they looked pretty comfortable there and gave me a glance like, "don't you dare think about kicking us off this court."  So, with the miniscule bits of wisdom I have acquired over the years, I thought it wise to check with the front desk and make sure I had the court reserved for my team.

"Tom Wha..." the teenage blonde with chunky brown streaks and 15 earrings in each ear said to me as I watched her index finger puruse the coaches list.

"Brand.. B-R-A-N-D... just like you Brand a cow.."

"Well, I don't even see a Tom Brand on the list".

My patience was already wearing thin.  "You should probably check it again.  5th grade boys, 4 pm on Wednesdays, coach Tom Brand", I said patiently as she double checked.

"Ah.. yup.  Right here.  Yes, that gym is yours."

So off to kick out the riff raff and get to work.

I gathered the boys around and had them start warming up with layups.  It's 4:15 now.  The experience at the front desk took nearly 10 minutes.  I notice that these boys are still lacking some serious fundamentals on a basic layup.

So, like a good coach, I stop them, gather them around and demonstrate that once you pick up the ball, you get two (2) steps to the hoop to lay the ball off the glass and score. 

About half of the boys are getting it.  The other half are not but willing to keep trying until they do.  All but one.  One who knows better.  One who wants to argue with me about it.

"I only need to take one step because I am bigger than all the other kids.  I don't need the two steps.  One will get the job done", he explains.

"Yes.  You are bigger than all the other kids and you probably only do need one step, but you get two.  You should use two.  Besides that, it is fundamentally correct to use two steps when performing a layup correctly", I explain.

"Look", he says, "I have had 8 basketball coaches over the years (he is 10 mind you) and none of them has ever told me that I am supposed to take two steps.  All of them have always told me that I only need to take one.  Are you telling me that all 8 of those other coaches are wrong?"

Now.... I am nearly 40 years old.  I am standing in the middle of a crowded gym with the rest of the boys watching this exchange.  I won't disclose my first instinct.  Let's just say I successfully supressed it and responded to his question the best I knew how in that situation.

"That is exactly what I am saying.  If you have had 8 coaches over the last 10 years of your life in your vast experience of playing basketball, and every one of them has told you that you only need to take one step while executing a layup, then yes.  They are all wrong, and I am right.  Besides, I am your coach now, not them and I am having to correct poor coaching 8 times over."

He couldn't believe it.  He just couldn't believe it.  At that point I thought of a term that I have had one of the guys in my office say a hundred times while talking sports speak, which I thought was not a term.  But I realized, it surely is.  "Uncoachable".  That's the word... that's what this kid is... or at least was last night.

I was done.  He was convinced he couldn't do it the way I wanted it done, and he was convinced that there was no way 8 other coaches could have been wrong and I was right.  Doesn't help that I guess his dad played in the NBA and has told him that one step is good enough.

It didn't help that after I pulled them all in again and gave them a lecture about how coaches volunteer their time, sacrifice work time, and family time to spend it with these kids, and that they should respect that and appreciate the efforts and give me the courtesy of listening to what I have to say, that my own boy left in the middle of my speach to get a drink.

I was done.  Dejected.  Over stimulated and out of gas.  4:45 couldn't have come any sooner.  I was out the door and on the road home.

So you may ask yourself, how I am feeling about coaching little league sports and 10 year old boys...  I can't wait until our game on Saturday!  I was over it by midnight anyway (a bowl of ice-cream is magical) and we all were just working the kinks out from a long break. 

And does it really matter if he takes one step or two?  No it doesn't.  Not today anyway.  One day he will have a flash back to our exchange and hopefully realize that I was trying to help him.

Hot Dog!

SOUTH TOWNE HOT DOG

Ah... the ever glorious Hot Dog On A Stick.  You know, some of my greatest memories were spent in front of a store much like this.  There is something wonderful about hot melted cheese on a stick slathered in batter and deep fried that just gives me goose bumps... in a good way mind you.

When Amy used to work here many moons ago, I would drop in and see her.  It was the only food available in a new and struggling South Towne Mall.  Needless to say, there was quite a bit of waste there.  I would show up about the time she would have to scratch a certain amount of inventory off the list and throw it in the garbage.  This situation led to one of the greatest variations of the cheese on a stick to ever grace a disposable paper hotdog tray.

Amy would take several cheese sticks that were going in the trash and mush them into a big cheese ball about the size of a grapefruit, waller it around in the batter and drop it into the boiling magic fry pot.  It took longer than a normal cheese stick so it was a delicate process to brown the outside just enough to ensure the contents were thoroughly melted but not to over do the outer shell.  She got it down to a fine science and I would enjoy a calorie oozing delicacy.

Although mom no longer works there, she and I still have fond memories.  And although the kids may never experience the mastery of mom's delectable cheese ball, it still tastes about the same as one on a stick.

The only thing that would have made this night better would have been to see amy in her little uniform pounding out a fresh batch of lemonade like the girl in the background.  Good times!