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...
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
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...
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...
Monday, October 25, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, October 22, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, October 15, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
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?
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.
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.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, October 4, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
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...
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.
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.
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