Ether

Four years into coaching I still don't know how to respond when a player tells me that his mother is a crackhead. I end up saying something like, "I'm sorry to hear that", but I usually come away feeling like something more heartfelt was needed in that moment. Like most listeners I tend to feel like I have to heal a twenty-year wound instantly, as if some clever quote (or hug) can really heal a deep rooted issue that quickly. Experience has taught me that the best way to respond is by simply listening.

During practice, I noticed Lebraun was out of it. His practice was going so poorly that he lost to the slowest guy on the team in a one-on-one suicide competition. Not realizing he was dealing with some heavy stuff, I started to get annoyed and he could sense it. Eventually, Lebraun asked to talk to me about what was weighing on him so heavily.

Lebraun: Coach, I'm not really into this today. Sorry. It's just I got a lot on my mind.
Me: What's wrong?
Lebraun: For Christmas my dad gave me $200 and I decided to buy a necklace for my mom with it even though he told me not to.
Me: Why'd he tell you not to do it?
Lebraun: He was like don't give her no money cuz she gonna buy stuff with it.
Me: So you chose to buy her a necklace instead. What's the problem then?
Lebraun: (his eyes growing red) I found out earlier that she sold the necklace for crack.
Me: Damn. Serious, man?
Lebraun: Yeh. She tried to sell it to my cousin who sells and he told me.
Me: I'm sorry to hear that.
Lebraun: I been tryin to get to know her my whole life but she been heavy into crack.
Me: You didn't grow up with her?
Lebraun: Nah. I grew up wit my dad, but me and him ain't really get along like that.
Me: Why not?
Lebraun: It always felt like he'd choose his girlfriends over me.

The A-Team

Anything is possible! Kevin Garnett infamously exclaimed this phrase after he got the "bully off his back" in 2008 when the Celtics won their 17th NBA title. It was the pinnacle of Garnett's Hall of Fame career. KG solidified himself as one of the all-time great power forwards once the buzzer sounded to end Game 6 and he hoisted the Larry O'Brien trophy for the world to see. Despite having never won a championship as a Head Coach, I've had a couple of these KG moments where I have truly felt like "anything is possible."

One of the most difficult personalities I've ever had to work with is Lanky. Authority doesn't exist in his world. He's stubborn as heck and is one of the cockiest guys I've ever coached. Despite all of this, it's very clear that he comes from solid stock. As a result of this, through the bad times I kept the faith that at some point I could possibly break through to him. Last season, on a team where our leading scorer had a 2.2 GPA, Lanky posted a 1.9 GPA. At one point, he had even told me that school wasn't for him.

When he decided to return for a second season, I had a strong sense that he would emerge as our "leader" this season. With that in mind, I spent a lot of time this past summer talking to him (and other returning players) about the importance of strong leadership. I explained that incoming players are usually followers, and that it was incumbent upon the four second year players to create a winning atmosphere. During one exchange, he expressed strong reservations about taking on the role I was asking of him.

Lanky: The role you're asking me to play ain't easy.
Me: Why's that? It's who you are. You're a fearless guy. Your teammates look up to you.
Lanky: Yeh but that's during games.
Me: If you're a leader during games, you can be a leader in practice and in other ways too. That character trait doesn't just come and go.
Lanky: I hear you, but I'm just not comfortable speaking up to dudes when stuff is going wrong in practice.
Me: Why?
Lanky: They're gonna think i'm a suck up, like I'm kissing the coach's ass.

He finished the semester as our leading scorer and rebounder (18.2 ppg, 9.5 rpg). He also had a 2.85 GPA, the highest in his three semesters with me thus far. His teammates, many of whom came in with sub 2.0 GPAs from high school, fell in line with a cumulative 2.67 as a group.

Le-Naissance

I have witnessed one of the most amazing turnarounds in my coaching career this season. This change has nothing to do with a comeback victory, or our team's record. I got a chance to witness the evolution of a young man I initially deemed to be unfit for our basketball team.

I've suspended quite a few guys over the years for not meeting my expectations academically. Lebraun, 21, is an example of this. After he took the college placement test and placed into remedial Math and English, I encouraged him to visit the Math Center regularly for help--especially since he had trouble completing a simple algebra problem in my office. He went once. A month into the school year, Lebraun had Fs in all but one class. He didn't have books for his classes either. I gave him a week to make assignments up in order to stay on the team. The assignments weren't completed. As a result, he was suspended for three weeks along with a teammate who was also failing miserably.

When mid-term grades came out, I was surprised to see that Lebraun had pulled his grades up enough to warrant another chance. The other suspended teammate continued to flounder. I still had doubts about Lebron's attitude towards academics despite this turnaround. Lebraun's grades were the first to be released this week. I was floored when I saw his academic report.

Writing B, Reading B+, College Readiness B+, Computer Info Systems C-
Cumulative GPA: 2.85

Seeing this report took me back to something Lebraun said during a bus ride out to an away game in Connecticut.

Lebraun: This is still a shock to me.
Me: What's a shock to you?
Lebraun: All of this. I'm on a team. I always wanted to be on a team, and I'm finally getting a chance.

Take Home Final

This, here, is an excerpt from a take home final that was taken by a Bubblee, Lanky. He was given a week to answer a series of questions related to investments, mortgages, interest rates, bank accounts, and other related material in his course on Personal Finance.

VII. Investments
a) Describe your risk type or risk tolerance in relationship to investments.

Lanky's answer
I don’t  believe in hitting women but I also don’t want them to hit me so I’d rather leave the house so I can cool down and then talking about the situation when everything is calm and ready to be talk bout.


I was horrified when I read that. I thought for sure that he would fail the course since he had a "D" before this awful submission. To my great surprise, he earned a C- for the course.

Business Asspirations

Some people will do anything to make a buck. That's the nature of living in a "dog eat dog" world, especially one that is growing increasingly absent of any conversation about morality. It's absolutely normal to rip people off, or take advantage of them. Used car salesmen sell people "lemons" without thinking about it; just as auto mechanics lie about car parts that don't really need to be replaced. These underlings simply reflect the behaviors of the upper echelon, namely Senators who vote yes or no on measures that destroy individuals and families just to keep their rich corporate friends happy.

Bubblees are not devoid of ambition. As a matter of fact, they often get into trouble because they have too much of it. Your average person accepts the notion of climbing up the proverbial ladder over time. Bubblees want the glory to come about overnight--literally. I'm still figuring out why things have to occur so quickly for them, but that's just the way of life in "the Bubble."

Flash was one of the smartest Bubblees I ever encountered. It actually took a long time for me to place him in "the Bubble" because he could hold a lengthy intelligent conversation with me, and he rarely said anything that sounded ultra delusional. He made sense to me most of the time. I once sent him off to dine with the Dean of Admissions at a major University because I trusted that he could hold his own--and he did! During one of our initial conversations, Flash shared some of his long term goals with me.

Me: So why do you want to major in Economics?
Flash: See. I got this whole plan, right.. I wanna major in Economics to learn how the economy works so that when I become a businessman I could do my thing right.
Me: Economics? Wow. You good at math?
Flash: I've never struggled with it.
(He placed into remedial math.)
Me: What kind of business do you wanna run?
Flash: I don't know if I could tell you all that. I know how you be thinkin.' You gonna get it all twisted.
Me: You told me about your plans to rob Walgreens and I didn't flip so I don't see how this could be any worse than that.
Flash: True. Aiight. How do I put this? There are a lot of beautiful, talented women in the hood who ain't doin nothin',
Me: Yeh.
Flash: I figure why not take advantage of that and open up a chain of strip clubs in the hood. 

Naked Gun

A month ago Lebraun missed practice after he was pulled over by the police. Other than the fact that he was speeding, I'm still not totally clear on what happened for him to miss a two hour practice. In my own experience(s) of being stopped, the whole episode has not lasted for more than twenty minutes. Maybe it's because as a black man, who has followed quite a few cases on police brutality, I know not to reach for my wallet (or anything else for that matter) during a traffice stop. I also know that I should raise my voice an octave so I don't seem like the ordinary black dude. To date, I haven't tasted the pavement yet or gotten a plunger lodged in my asshole so I must be doing something right.

As I've said in earlier posts, Bubblees and drama are like milk and cookies. You can't find one without the other. Lebraun's most recent story typifies this. After the whole episode of being pulled over for two hours, he found himself in another jam. Last night he called to let me know about something that happened before he got to campus yesterday. He wanted to let me know beforehand just in case the "dees" came asking questions about him.

Lebraun: Ay coach, man, I need to let you know somethin..
Me: Is this about your sister again? What happened with her and homeboy, by the way?
Lebraun: Oh yeh. She ain't seein him no mo. She put a restraining order on him. I listened to you. I ain't go after him that day cuz I figure she just gonna go back to him anyway.
Me: Good thinking. What's going on?
Lebraun: Well, I was up by these projects chillin before practice and these girls kept laughin about somethin.
Me: Okay
Lebraun: And so I was like, what are y'all laughin at. Lemme know what's so funny and they wouldn't say nothin, but one of them mentioned a black bag.
Me: Okay.
Lebraun: Yeh so they kept laughin and snickerin then all of a sudden, the dees should up.
Me: I'm following.
Lebraun: So when the dees showed up they went and picked up this black bag and started askin me questions.
Me: Why'd they question you because of a random black bag?
Lebraun: I was thinkin the same thing, but they went through my record and all. They wanted to know if the black bag was mine and I told em no. I told em I was playin ball at QCC so when they ain't find nothin they just lemme go.
Me: What was in the black bag?
Lebraun: A big ass shotgun!!

Cruise Control

Stress subtracts years from an individual's life. I have no scientific evidence to support this, but this is a theory I've heard repeatedly over the years. My thoughtful nature leads me to believe that this is a plausible notion. On the other hand, however, I feel like stress plays an integral part in our lives. A life without challenges would be pretty dull in my estimation. There are days where I feel like overcoming stress is our reason for being.

Consider the story of Jesus Christ, for example. His claim to fame is a thorough beatdown that culminated in a stressful public execution. After being subjected to this painful series of events, he "rose again on the third day" and ascended into heaven to sit at the right hand of the Father. For me, Jesus' story is about the human spirit and the internal mechanism we have to overcome some of the darkest situations we encounter in life. Jesus would still be amazing to us today given all the stories about the miracles he performed, but he probably wouldn't have been immortalized the same way had he not been equipped to overcome His darkest hours. 

Bubblees, on the other hand, don't believe in overcoming challenges. People like Lanky are firmly of the mindset that stress subtracts years from your life. As such, he avoids stress at all costs. He's 20 years old and has no children. Lanky doesn't have a car either. He lives with his mother and is not expected to contribute to rent or utilities. His grade point average, despite his idle time and taking three remedial classes for the second straight semester, is hovering around a 2.0.

Me: Have you ever had a job?
Lanky: Yes
Me: where?
Lanky: I worked with my uncle over the summer doing work as a carpenter.
Me: This was just a summer job, though.
Lanky: Yeh.
Me: What's the longest you've held any other job for?
Lanky: 4 months
Me: Where?
Lanky: TJ Maxx
Me: You're gonna need to work a job for more than 4 months to build your resume.
Lanky: Yeh. I know. I don't need all that stress, though.
Me: What stress?
Lanky: Come on now. How do you expect me to go to school, play ball, and work?

SLAM!!!

The mind is capable of crippling the body. One morning, you might wake up feeling like Superman has NOTHING on you! That newfound bravado could result in your crippled body sprawled on the pavement in front of your house. Reality says you aren't a bird, or a plane. You aren't faster than a speeding bullet either. In this case, your mind would have literally turned you into an invalid or a dead man because you lost sight of your limitations.

Before our third home game this year, I was informed by my Assistant Coach that we picked up a technical foul because a player attempted to dunk the ball during pre-game warm-ups. It's considered taunting to dunk before the game. Initially, I thought a certain hard-headed individual on my team was the violator, but it turned out to be somebody else much to my surprise. Right before tip-off I asked the referee who did it and he pointed to Lebraun. I was furious.

Beyond the fact that we were giving this very competitive team a point to start the game because a player decided to ignore a widely known rule, I was angry because Lebraun can't even dunk. I couldn't wrap my mind around how a guy who clearly has no hops at 6'4 would do something so stupid before a game. In response to the technical foul, I decided to bench him for the game (not that he would've played anyway).

After the game, a 69-62 loss, he texted me some of his frustrations.

Lebraun: I feel like you don't trust me.
Me: What?
Lebraun: You don't think I could get the job done out there. Gimme a chance, coach.
Me: We need to talk tomorrow about the stupid technical foul you picked up before the game.
Lebraun: I ain't get a tech. What you mean?
Me: The ref told me you were trying to dunk before the game even after he warned you. You can't even dunk!
Lebaun: What? Yeh I can. Just cuz you ain't seen me dunk yet don't mean I can't dunk.
Me: Oh yeh? I'll talk to you tomorrow

I gave Lebraun the ball after practice the next day and told him to show me he could dunk, or he would have to run around the entire campus. He missed all three attempts. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even close. I thought this was an open and shut case.

A month later, while we were working on a last second alley-oop play from out-of-bounds during practice, guess who asked if he could be considered an option to catch a dunk at the rim? Just to prove a point, I decided to experiment with him. Two passes were thrown his way right at the mouth of the rim, and as expected, he caught more of the net than he did the rim.

Big Bang Theory

Size is overrated. Basketball coaches gush over players who are tall, long, and athletic. You could be as dumb as a brick if you have those traits going for you in most basketball circles. Most coaches believe you could teach a lot of things--like how to rebound, score around the basket, shoot, dribble, pass, and everything else that comes with being a skilled basketball player. Size, they contend, cannot be taught.

My first test case was Smokey, a 6'8 300 plus pound monster who got his nickname for obvious reasons. He was obese, but he had basketball skill. When Smokey appeared in the gym out of nowhere, it's almost like I saw gold land on my doorstep. I watched him play a game of pick-up with some friends and he didn't look all that bad. I tried to ignore the fact that Smokey panted through non-strenous pick-up games and only took 20 foot jump shots at his size. In five minutes I determined he would be my first project.

As expected, he didn't pass my conditioning run of ten fullcourt sprints in a minute for big men. He couldn't even do six of them. (Note: A first grader could probably do six fullcourt sprints in a minute.) I let him on the team anyway. At 6'8, I felt like Smokey was a drop-step away from being the league's most dominant big man.

Unfortunately, his foot work was horrible. If he had to run a zig-zag to dodge a shooter's bullets, he'd die within seconds. This wasn't his only drawback as a ball player. Smokey also had the basketball IQ of a grape. He couldn't learn basic play patterns like pass, screen away despite two hours of daily repetition for a straight month.

My excitement about the possibilities lead me to dumb everything down on offense, but he had to at least be able to defend. At 6'8, all he had to do was put his hands up around the basket to be effective. Unfortunately, he couldn't remember to do that ninety percent of the time. He also had an aversion to jumping. Smokey was the first guy I ever coached who was afraid to jump. I'm convinced he thought his knees would shatter or something.

As you might expect, he didn't play much to begin the season. I explained to Smokey that he had a very prolonged learning curve to go through before he could play much, if at all. He told me he understood. I was pleasantly surprised when Smokey approached me to talk about his role on the team.

Smokey: We need to talk.
Me: What's up?
Smokey: (angrily) I don't understand!
Me: What don't you understand?
Smokey: I don't get why I'm not playing!
Me: (shocked) uhh... umm. I thought we talked about this before the season started. I told you not to expect much playing time. 
Smokey: Yeh, but I didn't think it would be this long.
Me: We've played two games.
Smokey: I'm sayin, though! I could ball! Give me a chance!
Me: How?!?!? YOU DON'T KNOW ANY OF THE DAMN PLAYS!

Judgment Day

There's a thin line between tranquility and drama. On a random boring weekend night you can choose to either chill in the comfort of your living room, or venture out and have some idiot broadside your car at an intersection. The neighborhood bar, where everybody knows your name, could someday be the site of your violent death as a result of you stepping on some psycho's foot at the wrong time. Life can change very quickly for any given person on any given day.

One evening after practice, K-Solo told me he might not make it to our game the next day because of a court date.  Since the liquor store heist occurred years before I had met him, I thought he was done with that particular case. We actually never spoke much about that adventure. As a matter of fact, he doesn't even know that I googled him after I had met him for the first time. He thinks I'm in the dark about that.

I decided not to say anything because he didn't offer any reason for me to question his character since that initial encounter. As a result of showing up on time for every single preseason meeting, I decided to hook him up with a job. I also got a very good vibe from him which doesn't occur often here. Only three other players in my coaching career (6 years) can say that I actively helped them find employment. In the case of K-Solo, I saw a young man who seemed to really want something more for himself. Through his first month of classes, his lowest grade was a C. He also had two "A's". 

My Assistant and I decided to meet with K-Solo after practice that day to discuss this court appointment he had coming up. To K-Solo's credit, he was very honest about his legal trouble.

Me: What do you mean you might do 2 years in jail?
K-Solo: Yeh.. If they find me guilty tomorrow, I'm going down.
Me: Damn. Really. What happened?
K-Solo: Well, it's a long story but basically I was at a park one night and some dudes started chirpin to my homegirl who was wit me?
Me: What do you mean?
K-Solo: I don't know exactly what happened but we were all drunk and some white boys..these skaters... called my homegirl the n-word.
Me: Oh..
K-Solo: Yeh. So I heard this and stepped to these dudes acting like I didn't hear what he had said. As he started to get loud and shit I just cracked him in the jaw.
Me; With a weapon?
K-Solo: Nah. I punched him. I broke his jaw.
Me:Yikes. Really?
K-Solo: Yeh. The bigger problem is that I was on probation for some other stuff that had gone down a few years ago so now, who knows??
Me: Can I write a letter for you stating that you're a model citizen on the team and that you have good grades?
K-Solo: Maybe it'll help. I just gotta go to court tomorrow and see if I get lugged for two.

Friday

Boredom is at the root of teenage deliquent behavior. On Friday nights in high school, my friends and I used to order pizzas to the homes of other classmates for a good laugh. It helped us deal with being teenagers in a town where the most interesting thing to do after 9 p.m., other than being at the movies, was to either do drugs, drink excessively, or go to sleep and hope for a great wet dream. 

Years later, through all the boring Friday nights, I have a clean criminal record. Only one of my friends has been arrested on a Friday night, and it was for Disorderly Conduct. I can't say the same about the guys I've coached. Friday is a bad day in "the Bubble."

One boring Friday night, K-Solo devised a plan with his friends. The execution of this daring heist would mean lots of laughs and liquor afterwards. This plan was several notches above calling in a pizza order to somebody else's home, or getting drunk with some friends. K-Solo and friends went for the gusto.

I randomly ran into K-Solo by the Financial Aid Office late one summer. At first glance, he looked like a basketball player (Yes. I stereotyped in this case). Aside from seeming tall sitting down, he happened to be wearing basketball shorts and sneakers. K-Solo asked if I was the basketball coach after I dropped a few hints to others around him about being el jefe of our Men's Basketball program. We then went to my office to talk about my program.

Me: Where are you from?
K-Solo: I'm from CT, sir.
Me: What position do you play?
K-Solo: I play all positions.
Me: (Bubble bait) Based on your own abilities, at what level do you see yourself playing?
K-Solo: (Bubble confirmation) I think I'm D1, honestly.
Me: (half smile) I guess I'll have to work you out to determine that.
K-Solo: I'm fine with that. When's good for you?
Me: How about tomorrow afternoon? What are you majoring in?
K-Solo: Tomorrow works for me. I'm not working. Human Services, sir. I'd like to help people.
Me: (thinking not a customary response at this level) I'll see you at 2 p.m. tomorrow. Don't be late.
K-Solo: I'm never late, sir. I'm very responsible.

After he left my office, I googled him and found out that he (along with some friends) attempted to rob a vacant liquor store and was caught escaping with quite a bit of brew in the back of his pick-up truck.

Sonny Delight

Sonny whipped Carlo's ass. I've seen hundreds of movies over the years. Like everybody else, I have a list of personal favorites--the Godfather being one of them. One of the all-time classic scenes from the Godfather trilogy was when Santino "Sonny" Corleone rolled up on Carlo (his sister's husband) hanging out with his boys and kicked his ass up and down a street for beating on his sister (Carlo's wife). Infused in our DNA as men is a gene that triggers violent behavior for assaulting a sister or mother. Like Homey D. Clown, we don't play that!

Lebraun was fresh off of a month long suspension for failing to pull himself together academically. At the time of his suspension, Lebraun was failing the easiest class offered at the college and a Basic Reading course. He's 21 years old...

With his basketball career hanging in the balance, Lebraun managed to pull his grades up within a month from D, C, F, F to B, B, B+, C. I honestly didn't expect that sort of turnaround after he was suspended. Most Bubblees give up when faced with adversity. Lebraun, on the other hand, debunked this stereotype and earned his spot back on the team. I was happy to reward his renaissance.

One of the unfortunate aspects of being in "the Bubble" is the Hollywood-type drama that seems to always find them. Knowing this, it wasn't surprising that Lebraun had a serious dilemma to deal with upon returning to the team. He called me before his 10 a.m. course for some advice on how to proceed with the drama that was suddenly unfolding around him.

Lebraun: I need some advice, Coach.
Me: (thinking, what else is new): what's going on?
Lebraun: iight so this basketball thing is real important to me so I don't wanna do nothin dumb
Me: what would make you do something dumb?
Lebraun: so my sister been seein this dude and he chased her down the street last night, and said he'd kill her.
Me: Ohh
Lebraun: Yeh. so he been messin with her for awhile and I'm not havin it no more.
Me: So this isn't the first time he's gotten out of line?
Lebraun: Nah. She actually put a restraining order on him but she keep on goin back to him.
Me: What are you thinkin of doing now?
Lebraun: I'm ready to fuck this nigga up but I know he sells drugs and stuff which means he has guns. If he has somethin on him that means I gotta be ready too.

Prince of Thieves

Drug dealing is easy money in the hood. Some people make a decent living off of selling nickel and dime bags of weed on the block. In some areas, the "little guy" is well aware that the DEA (Drug Enforcement Agency) and local police force isn't looking to put him away. He knows that he's low on the food chain. The "big boss" is who they're after. The lone drawback to being a small-time street peddler is that it's nearly impossible to get rich that way. As a result, some of these guys often attempt much bigger heists in an attempt to cash in on a bigger payday.

On the same day that a detective called me about a player (re: Doedoe) being sought for questioning related to an unmasked, unarmed robbery in broad daylight, Peanut decided to spill his guts about some dirt from his past. I had brought the team together to address the police investigation, and he seemed pensive throughout. It was an old fashioned pep talk about life. I lectured about all of them being in a position to walk a brighter path. I used examples of past players who went from living a life of hopelessness to one filled with new and exciting opportunities. Peanut was the most attentive guy in the room. His eyes revealed a young man who wanted to escape a troubled past.

Peanut came to my office afterwards to talk. He needed to get something out badly. As the biggest guy on our team (6'3, 230 lbs) he suddenly seemed like a teddy bear. I felt his emotion before he even spoke.

Peanut: Tell me. What do you really, like, think a me?
Me: I think you're a good guy. You have some learning disabilities that you're embarassed about, but that's nothing new to me.
Peanut: (stuttering)You tttthink I'm a bad guy?
Me: I think you've done some dirt, but you're not a bad person from what I've seen.
Peanut: (stuttering) So, I dddon't sssseem like a bad guy?
Me: Nah man. You're Peanut, the guy who forgets to tie his shoes sometimes before stepping on the court.
Peanut: I dddon't think you'd believe me if I tttold you something.
Me: What's up?
Peanut: I'm a awful person. You dddon't know me. Nnnobody does. Eeeeven my parents don't know me.
Me: what makes you so bad?
Peanut: See. It's hard ffffor me to sssay this because I feel sssso bad about it.
Me: did you kill somebody?
Peanut (silence): Nah. I mean, I don't tttthink so. I don't sssstick around to find out.
Me: What? I don't understand.
Peanut: I try to ggget jobs. Nobody wanna hire me. I don't wanna work in no fffactory and make nnnothing like my dad so I do things for money.
Me: Like what?
Peanut: I, like, sssold drugs. I bbbroke into, like, homes to rob people wit money and stuff.
Me: Seriously. Have you ever killed anybody?
Peanut: If you're driving by and shooting, you don't stop to see if you've hit somebody. You just kkkeep going.


 

Say Cheese!

One mistake can ruin your life. This is a notion that most folks have difficulty comprehending. We are all fallible as human beings, but some errors are far worse than others. This is even true in sports. There's a big difference between fouling the opposition with fifteen minutes left in the game, and committing a foul late in a close contest that sends your opponent to the free throw line.

Bubblees, like everybody else, make mistakes. Their errors, however, are continuously of the really stupid variety. Splash's story is a perfect example of this.

He earned his nickname, Splash, because of his outside shot. Whatever shot Splash put in the air seemed to find the bottom of the net. He wasn't terribly athletic, but the boy could shoot! I loved that aspect of his game. The part I didn't like was the unnecessary show of confidence every time he made a shot. It was really annoying, actually. He was easily one of the cockiest kids I'd met here.

Splash came with a checkered past. Many guys I've worked with have been arrested, but none have gone to prison. Splash was the first guy I'd met who actually spent time in jail. Shortly before the school year started he informed me that enrolling in school wasn't going to happen. I thought he was just bailing out because of the upcoming conditioning run given his poor showing in summer workouts. Unfortunately, he had a much bigger issue on his hands.

Splash: Yo, I can't do this basketball thing here. Matter of fact, I can't even do the school thing.
Me: Why not?
Splash: Some stuff.
Me: Financial aid?
Splash: Kinda, but not really. I mean, I'm having issues gettin papers from my pops to do that but that's small.
Me: What's the problem? I can't help if you don't say anything.
Splash: You can't help me with this one. I know for sure you can't help.
Me: Try me.
Splash: Remember I told you I was locked up for a couple??
Me: Yeh.
Splash: Aiight man. I can't be in school cuz I'm registered as a sex offender and campus police wants to put my picture up on campus and I'm not havin' that!

Hoop Dreams

(Start from the bottom. That's the first email.)


From: Campus Police
To: Me
Sent: Wed 10/6/2010
Subject: Re: Basketball Player


Hi Coach 

He did state he played for the team and when I gave him the written warning I told him I would e-mail you and said ok not a problem.

Thanks,

 

From: Me
To: Campus Police
Sent: Wed 10/6/2010 9:58 PM
Subject: Re: Basketball Player

Hi Officer,

Thank you for the email. Did Mikey say he was on the team? He has never played for us, nor have I ever heard of this guy.

---

From: Campus Police

To: Me
Sent: Wed Oct 06 19:44:12 2010
Subject: Basketball Player

Hi Coach,

I hope all is well. I just wanted to let you know I had an encounter with Mr. Mikey Miller last night. I stopped him for speeding on campus and had him on radar at 33 MPH in bad weather. He was respectful and co operative when I spoke with him so he received a written warning. I just wanted to give you a heads up and keep you informed just incase if you as a coach want to do any "team" discipline. Any questions just let me know. 

Thanks,

---

Nightshift

Tomorrow is never promised. Many of us take that for granted, especially people in "the Bubble." Silky isn't a guy I would identify as a Bubblee given the way he lead his life. His attempt to maximize each day showed evidence of a man who believed sincerely that his time on earth was borrowed. He was a human energizer bunny. With the exception of his time spent sleeping, Silky was either working a part-time job or doing homework.

I became a witness to Silky's tireless work ethic a few years ago when he came to basketbally tryouts. That year, I literally made drills up along the way to get guys to quit. Thirty people showed up. Silky was one of four guys left standing.  The impressive part about his show of physical endurance was how he kept in shape during the off-season despite a very busy work schedule. When I asked Silky what he did during the summer to prepare for my vaunted conditioning run (11 fullcourt sprints in a minute) he replied simply, "I jog three miles to work everyday."

With time I learned there was a lot going on with Silky. I noticed on every form he completed for us, he'd leave off his social security number. When I asked Silky about that, he confessed about his undocumented status here. He explained how driving back and forth to campus was stressful because he didn't have a Driver's License. Despite this hardship, and the fact that he worked forty minutes from school, Silky managed to pull off 3 As, an A-, and a B+ in six classes.  Eventually, he stopped playing ball because getting a car to drive was so difficult for him.

The last time I saw Silky which was this summer, we had a great conversation. He was off to a four-year college after completing his Associate's Degree here.

Silky: I'm going to major in Criminal Justice. It would be nice to join the Coast Guard someday.
Me: Really? The Coast Guard?
Silky: Yeh. Once I get my papers straight I'm going to enlist. The adventure sounds cool to me.
Me: Lemme guess. You're one of these guys who loves rollercoasters and stuff.
Silky: How'd you know?!?!
Me: Just a wild guess.
Silky: lol.. Rollercoasters are nothing! That's kid's stuff. Someday I'd love to jump out of a plane!
Me: You couldnt pay me enough to do that! You're nuts!
Silky: haha.. Yeh. I guess you could call me a thrill seeker.

Three months after that conversation, Silky was killed in a single car accident when he lost control of his car on the highway.

Keep Ya Head Up

Misguided anger is the reason why some men exhibit deviant behavior. It would seem to make sense that men who were raised by single mothers would cherish and honor the sex that cared for them through life, but that's not often the case. They don't reciprocate the loyalty they were shown by the women who raised them. As an outsider who hasn't fully experienced the lives of these Bubblees, I often wonder if the women who "stuck it through" didn't somehow trigger their resentment towards women at some point.

Here are three examples that come to mind:

Flash - His mother was a heroin addict. He has cheated on his girlfriend repeatedly. Flash's father chose his wife over him at a young age.

Armslong - His mother was in and out of jail, and struggled with alcoholism. His grandmother raised him. He has no relationship with his father.

Thuglife - His mother has struggled with an addiction to crack. His father passed away when he was four.

Despite everything, all three of these guys are very close to their mothers. Thuglife, for example, goes home often to visit his mother. He speaks very fondly of her too. He's also a lady's man. This past year, Thuglife was in a relationship that ended abruptly. His girlfriend came to every game and even helped him with many of his homework assignments. As an outsider, all seemed well with their relationship until Thuglife gave me the skinny on their situation.

Thuglife: You know I don't date homegirl no more, right?
Me: Really? What happened? She seemed like such a nice girl. Good girls don't come around too often, man! Gotta hold on to those.
Thuglife: Coach, this chick was crazy! I'm good wit all the drama!
Me: What do you mean drama?
Thuglife: Tell me why this chick came to my crib in the rain and laid in the middle of the street talkin some nonsense about killin herself over me!
Me: What?!?! You're playing, right?
Thuglife: Nah. This chick crazy!!!
Me: You had to do something to trigger that behavior. Girls don't just do that.
Thuglife: She found out through facebook that I was messin wit some chick at another school!

I found out much later through a very reliable source that she happened to be carrying his child and ultimately had an abortion.

Mom is the Word

Young men are plagued by issues of identity. The following is a breakdown of my starting five on Opening Night from each of the past four years.  

Year 1
SuperFly: No
TooShort: No
CoolGuy: Yes
Vanilla: No
Duncan: No

Year 2
Tish: Yes (deceased @ 15)
Flash: No
Boxer: No
Bud: Yes (alcoholic)
Irishman: No

Year 3
Flash: No
Thuglife: No (deceased @ 4)
Suavemente: No (lives in FL)
Loco: No (lives in NY)
Crazy: Yes

Year 4
Fearless: No (lives in SC)
Thuglife: No
Oxford: Yes
Norwich: No
Nigga: Yes

The yes/no indication refers to whether or not those individuals had a relationship with their biological father.

Sweet Sixteen

Age ain't nothin' but a number. I've met a fair share of 19 year old men who are less mature than my 15 year old nephew. Watching how some of these characters rationalize their actions, and act strictly on impulse, has been really disturbing. These days when I watch the news and hear about a brazen robbery, shooting, or kidnapping I'm not as surprised as most people because I've seen the mentality at play.

Armslong, in many ways, typified this deficient mindset. He wasn't a bad person per se. Although I wouldn't put my money on it, I don't ever see him robbing a bank. For the most part, he'd do the right thing. He was also very respectful. Armslong's ability to see beyond what was right in front of him is what concerned me most about him. If I handed Armslong a slice of pizza and asked what he saw, he'd probably tell me it was just pizza as opposed to seeing dough, tomato sauce, and cheese.

I once asked him why he thought I was trying to learn the game of golf and he was really confused. I tried giving him every possible clue so he could see that my interest in golf was based on my desire to network with wealthier people, and he just didn't get it. I didn't realize how broken his mentality was until his boy, Thuglife, dimed him out on some sketchy behavior.

Thuglife: Ayo, coach. You got some nasty dudes on this team.
Me: What do you mean by that?
Thuglife: Some dudes just got no standards for who they mess wit. They'll just bang on anything!
Me: Why are you bringing this up right now? Weren't we just talking about you having no money.
Thuglife: Oh nah.. I'm just sayin. He nasty!
Me: (realizing he was ready to spill his guts about something good) So, why's he nasty?
Thuglife: Armslong.. he just don't care who he mess with. He be bringin some ugly lookin chicks to the crib and he don't be wearin' rubbers. I don't understand that dude.
Me: Yikes. Really? He get burned?
Thuglife: I wouldn't be surprised. And you know what? Between me n you?
Me: What?
Thuglife: He be messin wit high school girls. This 16 yr old been sweatin him hard and he tryin to deny beatin it. We know he got with her cuz she be comin by the crib a lot! 

Interestingly, when I was visiting a local high school a young woman, who somehow knew I was the Men's basketball coach at my college, asked me to say "hi" to Armslong.  

Parkin' Lot Pimpin'

Male student-athletes don't respect women. That's what I've experience here as a Coach. Every season I talk to my players about how they relate to women. The most common example I use of a good time gone wrong is what happened to the Duke Lacrosse players. One bad decision, I tell them, can lead to a lifetime of agony.

A few situations have arisen over the years that I've had to address. One night after a home game I saw a random car outside the Athletic Center shaking violently. The windows happened to be foggy as well. I thought nothing of it until some guys I was about to drive home began to chuckle. As we sat down in the car, they were straight up dying.

Me: What the hell is so funny?
Goofy: (laughing hysterically)
Duncan: You don't realize whose car that is? You blind, Coach?!?!
Goofy: yo! He's getting it in right now!!
Me: Y'all are acting like big kids right now! If you want a ride home, you better tell me what's up!
Duncan: (laughing) Don't be mad at us, coach! We in here with you tryin to get home.
Goofy: (gasping for breath) Yo. He gets no burn so he's getting a workout in now!

I flashed my lights on the car and the movement stopped. Suddenly a couple of shadows emerged behind the fogged windows and I saw two people pulling themselves together. Vinny, a bench warmer, was having a rendez-vous in his car outside the Athletic Center with a young woman the guys tended to gravitate towards. I'd heard rumors the week before about some student "sucking off" three of my guys in a car and made nothing of it.

It took a couple of weeks, but I finally realized who the guys were referring to as "Bucket."

Momma Mia!

Family is supposed to be a source of love and comfort. There was a time where I'd stand before my players and talk about how my parentS worked many hours to put a meal on our table every night. I'd talk about my family being hit hard by the Bush, Sr. era recession when my father lost his job, or my mother hoisting the family on her back to the tune of 50 hour work shifts at a Nursing Home. In my mind, I was a warrior for having escaped the mean streets of Dorchester where we always had heat and electrity in a spacious two bedroom apartment to eventually become what I am today. One of my players, Suave, got me to reflect deeply on my past dire circumstances

Suave was one of a kind. He lived in the local housing projects, which was a twenty minute walk away from campus. Rain, snow, or shine Suave would find his way to campus via public transportation or the old fashioned way--by foot. He was determined to fulfill his dream of playing college basketball. Suave had a mid-range jumper that looked a lot like Ray Allen's. In one drill he hit an astonishing 75 out of 100 mid-range shots!

In my second year of coaching the team, we practiced at 645 a.m during the week. Most of the team had a hard time with this except for Suave and one other player. With each practice, I noticed that Suave looked more and more sluggish. It got to the point where he looked strung out. One morning I walked in and found him there alone shooting at 6:30 a.m. He looked worse than usual. On this occasion, I forced Suave to open up about what was troubling him.

Me: What's going on, man? You don't look good.
Suave: Yeh?
Me: No. I'm worried. You look bad. Are you sleeping? Eating okay?
Suave: Honestly, no, but I usually don't sleep.
Me: What do you mean by that? People need to sleep.
Suave: I sleep if I have a comfortable place to lay my head.
Me: What about home?
Suave: Haha.. I don't really have a home, Coach.
Me: I thought you live with your mom?
Suave: I do, but it's hard to stay there.
Me: Why?
Suave: (pauses) Coach, my mom roams the streets. She's an alcoholic. Sometimes she just picks up and leaves for like a week.
Me: Where does she go?
Suave: I wish I knew...

Perspective...

Toys R Us Kid

Nova's shoe laces were always untied. It was the most annoying thing to watch. I'd stop him every time I noticed his laces came undone, which was frequent, to tie them again. Other times it was his shorts that were falling off his body. For most of practice I could see his boxers in clear view. He'd pull them up and minutes later, they'd just drop again.

A month into school he was failing every class. He didn't realize this, however.

Me: You're failing all of your classes.
Nova: What you mean? I got like a "C" in computer class. That ain't failin.
Me: A "C"?? All of your professors said you're failing. I have the emails to prove it.
Nova: I know for sure I got like a "C" in that computer class.
Me: (reading the email directly to him) "Nova's hw grades are as follows: F, F, F, C.."
Nova: Yeh see! I told you I had a C in the class.
Me: You got 3 Fs and a C. How does that amount to a C?
Nova: That's the last grade I got.

That conversation lead me to show Nova how professors calculated grades hoping he would understand the process better. He then asked what needed to happen for his grade to improve. We talked about his study habits and organizational skills, which prompted me to ask Nova for his notebooks. As I was asking him about notebooks, it then dawned on me that I never saw him around campus with a school bag.

Nova presented me with a red single subject notebook stuffed with a mess of graded work and syllabi from his four classes that had little writing in it.

Puff the Magic Dragon

People I know who tend to smoke weed heavily have issues. There are always exceptions to the rule, but in my experience I've found that people tend to blaze as an escape. This is rocket science at its finest: I stress; therefore, I smoke. Nova was a prime example of this.

It comes as no surprise to me that a majority of Bubblees I've encountered love the "peace pipe." Most of these guys never talk about what's really bothering them. They just blow their problems into the atmosphere and then it "disappears" into thin air.

When I met Nova he couldn't find a job. He was living with his mom who seemed to move around more than a boxer in a ring. Even though our application is two pages long and doesn't require an essay, he had a hard time filling it out. At 19, he was a total mess--literally. He never looked neat and his lips were as black as my Blackberry. Everything he wore reaked of weed residue all the time.

Given his size, I decided to work with him past try-outs. Guys who are 6'6 don't grow on trees. I figured that I could solve his coordination issues, or at least get him to function on a basketball court--not so much. He could not, despite his best efforts, follow any kind of directions. Something as simple as run and clap the backboard then run in place was a chore for him. He couldn't even sprint the floor on command.

His mobility issues were a result of his inability to keep his shoes laced through an entire practice...

Bamboozled

I stood there in total shock with the whistle in my mouth. This dude talked himself up to the point that I  thought he was as good as, or better than, our outgoing superstar. In a matter of seconds I went from being amped up to feeling completely lost. I couldn't understand why Nova would lie about being recruited by a major Division I school since I was going to see him play. He had a nice looking jump shot, but everything else was terrible. I was puzzled watching him try to make a left handed lay-up and continually fail miserably because his footwork was so off.  

Immediately after the workout, he asked me what I thought of his game. There have been few moments in my life where I've had trouble conveying my thoughts to somebody. I really wanted to say, are you fuckin serious?? Did you just waste my time for this nonsense? The humanitarian in me wanted to give him a hug and talk about the "Villanova recruiters who visited him." At that point in my career I was aware enough of psychological issues to know that the "recruiters" could have been very real to Nova. My approach needed to be tactful.

Nova: (spits on the ground) So, watchu think, Coach? I'm just outta shape, yah mean. Other than that, watchu think?
Me: (staring at him intently) Which Villanova was recruiting you?
Nova: The one down there in Philly.
Me: And they came into your apartment? People actually spoke to you like we're doing now?
Nova: Yeh. They was like my grades was bad but other than that, they were feelin the kid.
Me: What kid?
Nova: Me!
Me: I don't know how to say this without coming off the wrong way but how was Villanova recruiting you when you don't know which foot to jump off on your lay-ups?
Nova: (silence)...
Me:  I don't even know what position I'd play you at here. You have no post moves and you can't make a lay-up off the dribble.
Nova: (getting annoyed)That's cuz I'm outta shape. I told you!
Me: Seriously, man. I'm not buyin' the Villanova story.
Nova: They did! I just need to get my grades up!

It was clear to me that Nova believed this story he had made up about phony recruiters visiting him. Nova came up to the gym regularly to play and couldn't defend either. He had trouble moving laterally. The oddest thing about Nova in all of this was something really subtle.

His sneaker laces were always untied, even when he played ball.

Say It Loud: I'm Black and I'm Proud!

Ghetto and black are synonymous in Thuglife Kennedy's world. He has a serious problem with black people who "act uppidy" and act like their "shit don't stink." For this reason, he prefers to associate mostly with some thugs back home and his mother's side of the family. He feels like they keep it real.

When he visits his father's side of the family, his uncles tell him to pull up his sagging pants. On top of that, there happen to be quite a few golfers among those Uncle Toms. Their most egregious act of defiance against the race is that they don't play loud music at family parties. We won't even get into the fact that many of them are wealthy and live in the suburbs. Real sell-outs!

One morning on the way to campus, he was telling me about some of the OGs back home and how they'd have his back if somebody tried to mess with him. They're even coming out to support him at his first game of the season! Thuglife was never "down" with them per se but if he had beef, he knows the homies would come out with the tools.

Thugishness aside, Thuglife flat out loves his mom. His deep affection for her stems, in part, from her being authentically black. According to Thuglife, his mom is the neighborhood cook. When I say cook, I'm not referring to a hearty meal either.

In the spirit of true blackness, Mom serves up "coke" from the comfort of her kitchen in an effort to spur entrepreneurship in the local black community.

Mo Betta Blues

Legends rarely fall into a coach's lap at a Division III Junior College. A year after we won the Regional tournament for the first time in school history, I was hired to replace the Head Coach who had departed for a coaching gig as an assistant at a Division I school. That championship squad featured the nation's best player and the region's top point guard. We were really good! It goes without saying that I felt a considerable amount of pressure going into my first season knowing that I had to keep the program atop the region without those aforementioned stars. My anxiety was alleviated, however, when I met Nova.

In my first season, I took everything guys said to me at face value figuring that a guy wouldn't just lie about his ability when I'm going to see him play anyway. On a random day late in the summer, and close to the start of the school year, Nova came to campus to apply for school and sign up for classes. He asked for the basketball coach and was pointed in my direction. At 6'6 with a good body and huge hands, Nova looked like a legit ball player.

Nova told me that some coaches from Villanova, an elite Division I program in Philly, were in his New York City apartment trying to recruit him. He explained to me that the reason things didn't work out with Villanova was because he had gotten into some unspecified trouble--which is why he came out here. With a new circle of friends in a new environment, he surmised, the doors of opportunity would fly open at some of the nation's top basketball programs.

I took Nova up to the gym for a quick look at his skill set. I had him slated to be the team's starting center before he even set foot on the court. Nova said he was better than our outgoing MVP whose jersey is now retired in the gym. He put on a show during the workout that I will never ever forget.

You Can't Handle the Truth!

I was sitting on a witness stand being grilled by a District Attorney. As often as I'd seen movie scenes of people getting questioned in court rooms, nothing could've prepared me for what I was about to experience. I went in thinking the DA would ask me a few basic questions then I'd be on my merry way. Wrong. This jerk was out to make me look like a liar!

A couple of months after Doedoe quit the team, he sent me a random text asking if I could take the stand for him. Bubblees don't understand how to maintain relationships with the right people. The concept of burning bridges is foreign to them. When Doedoe decided to quit the team without any forewarning, it never occurred to him that he would need to call me for support at some point. Initially, I considered hanging him out to dry. When I gave it more thought, however, I knew I had to do the right thing. It was my responsibility to tell the truth in court so he could avoid jail time.

Fortunately for Doedoe I wrote a letter days after the robbery occurred to his Lawyer stating that he was at practice. He just needed me to get on the stand to corroborate my statement. I didn't realize the DA had it in mind to make a mockery of my existence, though.

DA: What's your occupation?
Me: I'm an Admissions Counselor and basketball coach.
DA: Are you sure about that?
Me: What's that supposed to mean?
DA: Uh huh
Me: No really? What's that supposed to mean?
DA: Do you see it as your responsibility to protect the players you so value?
Me: I see it as my job to mentor my players. Sure.
DA: Apparently, you don't understand what I'm saying. I said, "protect", not mentor.
Me: (annoyed) Well, I'm just telling you that I mentor my players.
DA: Can you please explain to the court, Coach (sarcastic tone) why you're giving this guy an alibi? Did he score a lot of points for you or something? (smiling now)

DEFENSE ATTORNEY: OBJECTION, YOUR HONOR
JUDGE: SUSTAINED

Me: (deep breath) What?! You think I'd risk my livelihood to lie for some kid on a witness stand?!?!?!
DA: That's not what I asked you. Again, you're having a hard time grasping what's being asked of you. Were you this confused when you wrote up this alibi for your player?!?
Me: (foolishly) I DIDN'T GIVE HIM AN ALIBI!! HE WAS AT PRACTICE!

I was furious when I left the stand. Making matters worse was the fact that Doedoe's Lawyer asked me to show up for court at 830 a.m. I wasn't summoned until 230 p.m.! I missed a day of work to be insulted by some asshole Attorney. Ultimately, Doedoe avoided jail time when the judge rendered a verdict of not guilty. Doedoe texted me afterwards to thank me for supporting him.

He's now at a 4-year college continuing his education.

Wutchu Talkn' Bout Willis???

I have a major speech problem. It took basketball coaching for me to realize that there are times when I think I'm speaking English but, in fact, I'm actually speaking a language unknown to others. The only time this speech impediment seems to affect me is when I'm communicating with my basketball players. A recent conversation with Lebraun helped me realize that I need to seek a speech pathologist as soon as possible.

Me: You have one week to make up every assignment or else I'm going to dismiss you from the team. Understood?
Lebraun: Yes.
Me: So, one week from today--as in seven days from now--you'll have the work completed?
Lebraun: I got you.

On the day of reckoning I called Lebraun to see if the work was done. His response startled me.

Me: By 4 p.m. today I need to see all the work.
Lebraun: What do you mean?
Me: I told you that assignments need to be made up for ALL of your classes by today.
Lebraun: I didn't get what you meant, though.
Me: What?
Lebraun: Like, you told me to get the work done but you didn't say what work needed to get done.
Me: You're the one taking the classes. You should know what's missing.
Lebraun: How am I supposed to know what's missing?
Me: ...crickets
Lebraun: You wasn't specific with what I needed to do.

That's when I decided to call my insurance provider to seek help for my speech problem. It takes a man to admit that he has a problem. An even bigger man will seek to remedy the issue by any means necessary.

Merry Christmas!!

There's nothing like randomly seeing your player's name in the police log of your local paper. A professor emailed me a newspaper article about somebody (Santa) who had the same name as one of our players that also happened to live in the same town. I read the article and figured there was no way he could've actually done what he was accused of.

I was an Assistant Coach at the time, so I forwarded the article to the Head Coach. He reacted as I did after reading it. We decided to meet with Santa to see if he was, in fact, the perpetrator.

(HC - Head Coach)
HC: (handing him the newspaper) Is this you, or just an odd coincidence?
Santa: (takes a quick look at the article and makes a face)
HC: Are you shittin me? Really?!?! What were you thinking?!?
Santa: You don't know what it's like to be broke wit 2 kids, man! I was desperate!
HC: What?!? Don't bring your kids into this!
Santa: I did it for them! I can't find a job! Nobody will hire me! What you want me to do?!?!? 
Me: (speechless) I hear all that, but why didn't you come to us first? We could've helped.
Santa: How's a man gonna ask another man for shit! I gotta provide! I'm the father!
Me: I understand, but now you're going to court for this and could get in deeper trouble.

(Everybody in silence...)

Santa was caught speeding away with a pine tree in the back of his pick-up truck after cutting it down in the yard of a Christmas Tree shop.

Momma Said Knock You Out!

ToughGuy and I stood face to face. I was enraged that he wouldn't leave. One coach was trying to keep the players occupied while the other was carving space in between ToughGuy and I. It was on like teflon. I figured a good ass whippin would teach ToughGuy a lesson.

His fists were clenched; mine were too. His right foot was back which, to me, was interesting because this meant he wouldn't have any power on his punch. I had most of my weight thrust onto the balls of my feet. ToughGuy was gonna go down HARD!

Suddenly my Assistant Coach was standing in front of ToughGuy, but I found myself moving toward him. I caught a glimpse of my players off to the side watching me behave this way. The gym attendants, who looked up to me, were looking through the window at the rising commotion. ToughGuy came back into focus. Out of nowhere, it seemed, I came to my senses.

There was no way I could allow myself to hit this kid.

Lebraun Feels the Heat

Lebraun is having major academic issues. Since he had a hard time completing an algebra problem (3x+12=48) that I gave him this summer, I figured he would have difficulties once school started. He also placed into the lowest level of remedial classes here.  I asked Lebraun to visit the math center three times a week in July to get help with him. Did he go regularly?

Lebran went to the math center once. I suspended him from summer workouts because of this. I expected this since most ball players I've worked with generally don't like admitting they need help with anything. Now, his english teacher is asking him to visit the writing center because the lone homework assignment he turned in recently was incoherent. Lebraun is 22 years old. Is Lebraun working hard to address these glaring deficiencies?

While Lebraun has some foundational issues academically, his biggest problem right now isn't related to that. One month into school, Lebraun hasn't purchased any books because he never applied for a financial aid voucher to buy them. How could this happen?

Even though he started the financial aid process in August, it took him a full month and a half to get them all the paperwork they needed. When he finally gave them all the documents they had asked for, it was too late to get a voucher. What has he done in the meantime to address this book issue even though three teammates have the same classes?

Nothing. He's currently failing every single class, even his basic Orientation class where his task on a daily basis is to write a journal entry about his likes and dislikes in life. I gave him a full week to make up everything that's missing in his classes, or he'll be dismissed from the team.

Will he make up the work?

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

Coaching an alleged criminal is really unsettling. I wanted to believe Doedoe was innocent, but my gut told me that the cops identified the right guy. Not only did he roll with a crew of shady characters, he also wasn't a bright guy. The combination of those two factors can be very dangerous. A guy who isn't thinking can be lead to do a lot of stupid things by people with ill intentions.

On top of that, I didn't find him to be an honest guy. Before he enrolled here, I'd heard rumors that he was planning to go elsewhere. Doedoe told me this was false when I asked him about it straight up. I decided not to be hard on him about that because a young man his age could have easily concluded that I would black-ball him for looking at other options. Also, rumors by nature tend to be exaggerated. I gave him a pass on this one.

One of his friends who I know well had asked me if Doedoe was really averaging 37 points per game. He said that Doedoe told him he scored 37 points in his scrimmage game before the season started (he had 18). Doedoe denied ever saying this to his friend when I asked him about it. I gave him a pass on this one figuring that his friend just added 19 points to his total for good measure.

After his third game, Doedoe and I had a meeting in my office that offered a great deal of insight about his character.

Doedoe: (convulsing) I don't understand! Why am I not playing a lot!?!
Me: You missed the first five games of the season and came to practice sparingly so you don't know the plays.
Doedoe: (crying now) I know the plays! I wanna win! You got bums coming in ahead of me!! LEMME PLAY!
Me: You don't know the plays. There isn't anything to talk about.
Doedoe: (crying and convulsing) YES, I DO!!!
Me: If I gave you a blank sheet of paper could you draw up our offense and explain the options??
Doedoe: Yup!
Me: K. If you don't know the play, I'm going to dismiss you from the team. (Getting up to get a sheet of paper).
Doedoe: HOLD UP! HOLD UP! I KNOW THE PLAYS. I just can't draw em up!!

Doedoe quit the team a few days after the last game of the semester where he started and posted 6 first half turnovers. He cited a need to work more hours in order to pay for his Lawyer fees. I privately asked a couple of his teammates after he quit if they felt like Doedoe committed the robbery. Both of them didn't hesitate to say yes.

Real Niggaz do Real Things!

Doedoe allegedly robbed her two blocks away from his apartment. The cops eventually found Doedoe at his home and arrested him. As soon as he made bail, Doedoe called to assure me that he was not the unmasked robber. 

Doedoe: Coach, it wasn't me!
Me: Uhh... I was told the person looked just like you. I mean, you weren't wearing a mask.
Doedoe: I'm tellin you, Coach. It wasn't me! They got the wrong person.
Me: How is that? You weren't wearing a mask.
Doedoe: My boy did it!
Me: Oh. So you know something about this?
DoeDoe: Yeh! My boy robbed her. I know it was him. He needs to turn himself in!!!
Me: Then why were you picked out of the line-up??
DoeDoe: I don't know! He has corn rows too! Maybe that's why.
Me: Cmon man. Really?
DoeDoe: I wouldn't lie to you!!

He had to sit out the first five games of the season while the college looked into the situation. Eventually, I was told that he could play since our legal system operates on the basis of guilt before innocence... I mean, innocence before guilt.

His first game back was an adventure. I called to let him know a half hour before we departed for our away game that he was good to go. Doedoe told me he was right down the street and would be there in five minutes.

He showed up twenty five minutes later smelling like he had just smoked three blunts in an air tight room.

Stupid is as Stupid Does...

A detective called me looking for one of my players. Doedoe was wanted for questioning related to an unarmed robbery in his neighborhood, and the detective was convinced of his involvement. I simply told the detective that he had left immediately after practice to go to class. When I asked the detective for specifics, he told me that I'd be given more information once he was in custody.

Doedoe was a local guy that I had some concerns about from jump street. There were rumors in the community that he was involved in a gang. He was also kicked out of his high school for disciplinary reasons. Those two matters, alone, were enough for me to pass on him. The biggest issue I had, however, was that he struck me as a Low IQ guy.

I've never administered an IQ test here, but it's usually not hard to figure out if a guy's wiring is off. My IQ test usually centers on the eyes. I believe an individual's eyes can tell a story. In the case of Doedoe, I couldn't have a conversation with him that went beyond the basics (name, address, phone number, etc). Anything beyond that and I'd get a completely blank look in return (Ex. Why do you think it snows in the winter?). It wasn't a matter of him not being interested in a topic, or a speech impediment. He just couldn't process anything beyond the basics.

When the detective called me back, finally, he offered some disturbing details about the robbery. The reason they were on Doedoe's trail was because he was identified in a photo line-up by the victim. I thought that was problematic since there have been more than enough cases of black men being wrongly accused of these types of crimes. There was an unfortunate twist to all of this, however.

Doedoe wasn't wearing a mask when he ripped the young woman's purse off of her arm in broad daylight.  

Follow the Leader

Stupid people won't follow intelligent people. Lazy people won't follow motivated people. This logic was presented to me by Flash when I asked him to lead the first year students the right way as a second year player.

One of the things I've been proud of as the coach here has been the academic performance of my players over the years. During my first season, the team had a cumulative 2.5 GPA. The following year, the group compiled a 2.9 GPA. In two seasons only two players failed to meet the eligibility requirement to play during second semester.

The common denominator between those two teams was that most guys in the starting line-up had a GPA over a 2.5. When your best players are doing well academically, people follow suit. Flash, on the other hand, saw this differently when we discussed his role as leader at the beginning of my third year as Head Coach.

Me: My first year as coach, 2 out of 17 guys failed off the team. Do you know why?
Flash: why?
Me: The leading scorer had a 3.7 GPA and he was the coolest mothafucka on the team.
Flash: Yeh??
Me: Dudes who never got good grades were trying to do well because he made it a cool thing to do well academically, kind of like how Cam'ron made pink acceptable in the hood.
Flash: See. I disagree wit dat...
Me: What do you mean?
Flash: Lemme explain it to you like dis, coach. See. If you talk or dress a certain way in da hood, people will look at you like youz a sucka.
Me: I realize that.
Flash: Hold up. So if you tryin to straighten out a kid in da hood, you gotta dress n talk like him to get to him.
Me: Okay...
Flash: Aiight, so my point is that if you want me to get these first year players to act right you gotta let me act like them so I can gain their respect.
Me: That doesn't make any fuckin sense. Are you kidding me right now? You're gonna dumb yourself down so they could listen to you?
Flash: I'm tryna tell you, Coach. Nig, I mean guys, ain't listenin to somebody they think is a sucka!
Me: So how was I able to reach you then?
Flash: Cuz I ain't like those guys. I know how to play da game.

At the end of first semester, our cumulative team GPA was a 1.9 and four guys failed off the team.

Thuglife Kennedy

I feel privileged to be coaching a Kennedy. Phil Jackson can talk up his 11 NBA championships. Coach K could gloat about his four NCAA championship rings and Olympic Gold medal. The late John Wooden could talk about his UCLA Bruins winning 88 games in a row. I can't hold my own in those conversations because I haven't won anything but a couple of lightweight tournaments in New Hampshire. Unlike my legendary counterparts, however, I can say that I've coached a Kennedy!

Everybody knows about the Kennedy family. They're that powerful Irish family that have captured the imagination of so many Americans. Most parents hope their kids will graduate from high school then get a college degree. The Kennedy family, on the other hand, expect their kin to become leaders of the "Free World." Their stature as a family has made them untouchable over the years, even when members of the clan commit criminal acts (i.e. Ted Kennedy getting off on vehicular homicide).

Thuglife is the cousin none of the Kennedys know about. He's a distant relative, if you will. Everything he wants is everything he gets. This dude went an entire summer without looking for an apartment and fell into one the day before school started because his basketball coach found it for him. Most 20 year olds work during the summer. Thuglife Kennedy doesn't roll like those other chumps. He picks up the phone seconds (literally) before his life gets turned upside down and a loving relative gets him off the hook.

Most students apply for financial aid months before going to college--not Thuglife Kennedy. He does it the day before and gets aid anyway. On top of that, he doesn't have to pay for books. As a matter of fact, he doesn't even apply for aid. Somebody else does it for him!

It must be nice to be a Kennedy...

Punks Supposed to Get Beatdown!

I felt nothing but rage. The voice in my head kept saying, don't do it! I clenched my fist and just stared at ToughGuy. The guys on my side of the court all went silent as I stood there in disbelief at what had just happened. I couldn't believe he had the balls to disrespect me like that in front of the team.

My anger didn't stem from him calling me a faggot. I'm secure enough in my manhood to take a stupid shot like that from an 18 year old. It was the fact that he stood there waiting for me to bust a move, not realizing that I could knock him out with a single jab. All I could see in that moment was ToughGuy's face and what appeared to be my assistant coach moving quickly towards me as I walked up to ToughGuy. The room started to go dark.

My heart was racing as I started to address ToughGuy. The assistant coach had beaten me to my destination and stood in between us.

Me: What did you say?!!
ToughGuy: YOU STAY PICKIN ON ME! I'M SICK OF IT!
Me: SO YOU WANNA GET LOUD NOW?!?
Assistant: Coach...
Me: NAH. HOLD UP. REPEAT WHAT YOU SAID!
ToughGuy: This is bullshit!
Me: YOU KNOW WHAT? GET OUT! NOW!!
ToughGuy: Why you pickin on me?!? Other guys are makin mistakes and you're pickin on me!
Me: GET OUT! NOW!

He stood there. ToughGuy wouldn't leave the gym.

Sticks and Stones

He challenged me in front of the team. It's hard for any player to deal with a lack of playing time, especially when he has more skills than the guy in front of him. One evening at practice, ToughGuy had enough and let off some steam.

Most young players don't understand what it means to play a "role." This is due in part to the overglorification of superstars in professonal sports. Every time a guy steps to the free throw line in the NBA, his stats are displayed on the screen. When a baseball player emerges from the on-deck circle to bat, his stats are displayed on the screen. Individual stats are everywhere in professional sports and the "star" gets his ego stroked every night on Sportscenter. Very rarely is "team" ever mentioned on a telecast. As a result, most kids naturally want to be the "man."

The guy I had chosen to start ahead of ToughGuy was the prototypical role player. There were four other starters who could score and he happily deferred to them. He just focused on rebounding and defending. ToughGuy, on the other hand, had something to prove every time he entered the game. As a result, he'd make mistakes and come right back to the bench. Several games into the season it became clear to me that ToughGuy wasn't going to accept a simplified role on the team.

During practice after a game where he didn't play much, I noticed that ToughGuy kept fouling teammates in a particular drill. I blew the whistle and heard him mutter something. I ignored it. When we started the drill again, he became even more aggressive and repeated what he had previously muttered loud enough so I could hear him.

He called me a faggot.

Living the "Dream"

I have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day I won't have to work. I'll be able to sit around comfortably and do as I please without fear of losing my apartment, car, or cell phone service. I have a dream. I have a dream that this reality will be actualized sooner rather than later so I can live happily ever after. This dream is realistic. It is a realistic dream because I know of grown men who (despite their inability to keep any kind of job) are able to live more comfortably than people who worked for forty years saving up for retirement.

In the two years that I have known Flash he has held three relatively easy jobs. The summer I met him, he was working at the YMCA in his town as a camp counselor. That should've been a cake job for a young man with his outgoing personality...not so much. One morning I showed up to see him at work. While the children were off playing, he was in the gym shooting around alone. He told me that his supervisor was cool with this. Shortly before the school year began, he was dismissed.

Part of my pitch for Flash to leave his friendly confines to play for me an hour away (at a school with no dorms) was that I would hook him up with a job. I made good on my promise. Flash was hired to work at an afterschool program ten minutes away from campus. It took two months for him to lose that job. One of the kids was found eating a crayon unsupervised in his designated area.

At the start of his second year, he got a job working at the Athletic Center. Flash was actually doing okay there for awhile until the stress of working at an Athletic Center with few patrons got to him. He randomly stopped showing up for work one day.

A loan paid for his apartment at school. Back home, he lived with his girlfriend in a government subsidized three bedroom apartment that housed anywhere from six to eight people at a time. He didn't have to pay anything because his girlfriend was holding it down with the welfare check.

Flash is living the American Dream.

Kick His A$$, Coach!

I value my livelihood too much to punch an idiot in the throat for disrespecting me. That motto has lead me to lead a life of turning in early on Friday evenings. The past four years I've restricted my outings to three venues because I know the likelihood of a fight occuring at those places is like President Obama getting caught in the oval office with an intern and a cigar. Even though I've taken extensive measures not to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, trouble has found me from time to time on the basketball court.

One particular character, ToughGuy, didn't like me very much. Truthfully, I couldn't stand him either. His attitude sucked. He was arrogant. To top it off, he wasn't a very good player or teammate. Our problems began during a playoff game when I was an Assistant Coach with the team.

(ToughGuy is chiding the refs from the bench)
Me: You need to chill out, man. We're going to pick up a tech if you don't stop.
ToughGuy: I don't care! It's not like I'm getting into the game.
Me: So because you aren't playing that gives you cause to act like an idiot?
ToughGuy: Yup.
Me: If that's the attitude you're gonna take on, then go back to the locker room. We don't need that!
ToughGuy: Make me.
Me: What?!?
ToughGuy: Yeh. You ain't gonna do shit!
Me: Man, don't let the shirt and tie fool you! WE CAN DO THIS!!
ToughGuy: OH YEH!! We can do this when we get back to Worcester...

Being the adult in the situation, and realizing I had let my temper get the best of me, I pulled him aside when we got back to Worcester and apologized for threatening him. Beating up an 18 year old wasn't going to accomplish anything. The following year, my first as Head Coach, I made the mistake of keeping him on the team. His follow-up act to that bench display was far more egregious.

Fuzzy Math

Perception and self-esteem have a very dear and close relationship--kind of like peanut butter and jelly, or cereal and milk. They're inextricably linked. Confident people are likely to "tell it as it is" because there's an internal mechanism that allows them to handle the truth. For the person who wakes up and sees Snuffleupagus in the mirror, his/her version of reality has to be taken with a grain of salt. Basically, when life isn't sweet, folks will naturally add sugar to make it bearable.

At the end of this past academic year I told Thuglife that his GPA was a 2.0 and that he needed to take a couple of summer classes to bring his credits up to 24 (from 18). We also discussed what needed to happen during the summer for him to improve upon his strong freshman year on the court (13.3 ppg). The day before his summer classes started I gave him a pep talk to make sure he knew there was no wiggle room for anything less than a C in either class.

Me: Don't forget. You have a 2.0 and 18 credits. If you get a C- and a C, you'll be ineligible to play this Fall.
Thuglife: I don't have a 2.0. I have a 2.3.
Me: No, really... You have a 2.0. I told you this already. We reviewed your transcript and everything.
Thuglife: I don't get how I got a 2.0. I got a A and a C second semester. That's a 2.3.
Me: Yes, and I already told you that the 2.3 was only for that session. Your cumulative is a 2.0. I showed you this. Why are we arguing about your GPA?
Thuglife: Oh nah. I'm just sayin that right now I have a 2.3.

A month later I overheard him sharing some incorrect information with his cousin about his freshman year statistics. What's worse is that I was standing right there.

Cousin: How much did you average last year?
Thuglife: 15 points per game.
Me: (intervening) No, you didn't. I told you that your average was 13.3 ppg. We talked about this like two weeks ago.
Thuglife: The other coach told me I put up 15 ppg.

The Cock Crowed Three Times...

The past four years I've been the equivalent of a parked car for pigeons. Despite my commitment to seeing these guys succeed, most of them take one big shit on me once it's time to fly away from the nest.

One of the things that stood out to me about Flash was the fact that few people, other than his girlfriend (Boobee) and child, would consistently show up to cheer him on during road games when we'd traveled back to his old stomping grounds. At one game, we were literally three blocks away from his neighborhood and he had a cheering section of five people: Boobee, baby, brother, dad, and dad's girlfriend. That was one of two games his father attended in the two years that he played here.

Former teachers or coaches never came out. There wasn't a mentor in the stands. Friends weren't there either. I often wondered how such a seemingly good-hearted, talented, social individual had such a small fanbase back home. I was determined to stay connected with him beyond his stint with me. The second to last time I saw him we had a very moving exchange.

(Mid-March)
Me: Where the hell have you been since the season ended? I rarely see you around campus. Your mid-term grades look good, though. (2 Bs, 1 C, and 1 unreported grade)
Flash: Yeh Coach. I'm bustin ass! Gotta leave here on a good note.
Me: So have you heard back from any schools? Did you get in anywhere?
Flash: I've gotten into my top choice. That's all that matters to me!
Me: You did?!?!?
Flash: Yeh man. All thanks to you. I know you're feeling good about gettin me to this point.
Me: (feeling so happy) Nah man. It was all you. I just kept pushing. I never did any of the work. You did it.
Flash: Yeh. It feels good! I ain't even gonna front. That coach really wants me. I can't wait.

A week later the Dean of Students informed me that Flash contacted her to withdraw from school. This was in early April. He was failing all of his classes. A month later he moved out of his apartment and didn't clean it out despite several pleas on my part for him to do so even though he knew the landlord was harassing me about it. He also bailed with his uniform (valued at $100) and refuses to return it.