Oh Brother

The city's young black men are lost. I realize this is a blanket statement, but I can't help but feel this way--especially after working at the local community college for seven years. I've also lived in the city for nearly fifteen years, so I've seen many of these boys over a long period of time. Very few of them are bad people. What I've noticed among them has been a troubling trend of regression. Seemingly innocent, good natured boys end up being angry men with no direction.

I've certainly encountered some upstanding young brothers around the city, but those encounters have been few and far between. I started my post-college career working for an Upward Bound program that served low-income/first generation students in the city. Among the black boys I worked with over a three year span, for example, only four out of twelve earned a Bachelor's degree within six years of enrolling in college (33%). Of the remaining eight, one is still working towards his degree and another is employed. The last six, on the other hand, are doing absolutely nothing productive. As a matter of fact, a couple of them are big time drug dealers in the city.

I continued to see similar trends when I moved on to coach at the local community college, particularly through my basketball program. In addition to working with my guys, I have developed relationships with some of their younger siblings during my tenure. There was one little brother (Stretch) who stood out because he came to see his big brother play at every home game.

Stretch was an easy going 8th grader who possessed really long arms and above average athleticism for his age. As an acknowledgement of his basketball potential, and enthusiasm, I gave him a free pass to my summer basketball clinic where he dominated the competition. Unfortunately I lost touch with Stretch after his brother played for me.

Three years later when I ran into Stretch, he was enrolled at the local alternative school that's designated for emotionally troubled youth. He didn't even play a full year of high school ball despite all the promise I had seen years earlier. His older brother once told me that Stretch acted out frequently in school, but I never had any issues with him in the gym or at my summer clinic. The smile and energy that I remembered were gone when I saw him again. Outwardly, at least, Stretch had changed quite a bit.

One evening I happened to cross paths with Stretch's older brother at a grocery store and I asked how he was doing. The update was discouraging.

Brother: Dude is a gambling addict now.
Me: What? No way. Is he hooked on craps?
Brother: Nah. Poker. Dude can't stop playing.
Me: Where does he get the money to do that?
Brother: He'll start off with like $100 and work his way up then lose it all.
Me: Damn. That's really too bad.
Brother: You didn't hear what happened to him recently?
Me: No. What happened?
Brother: He's about to do time for a home invasion!

Coach Carter

I cut my nose to spite my face. I've never even seen the movie "Coach Carter", but some of my players have accused me of trying too hard to emulate the Hollywood reenactment of an African American coach who went above and beyond to redirect some troubled teens. I've levied quite a few suspensions over the years to teach lessons, but rarely does it feel like I'm punishing anybody other than myself.

During my second year on the job, I suspended my leading scorer from five different games for various infractions--a couple of which involved not showing up to class for weeks at a time. We finished the regular season that year with a meager 13-13 record despite having the ability to win 17-18 games. Instead of having a first round bye, we were forced to play in the tournament qualifier and lost that game. With two additional wins, we would've easily qualified for a first round bye. The young man who was suspended did well that year academically (2.6 GPA), but dropped out of college a month into school after he transferred.

A couple of seasons ago, I pulled the plug on my leading rebounder (who was also a starter and third leading scorer) for four games because he refused to do his school work even after being warned of a possible suspension. During that span of games, we went 2-2. When he finally came off suspension for the last game of that semester, we beat the tenth ranked team in the country at the buzzer in a very exciting game. Unfortunately, he only played in one more game because he regressed again after that game and failed off the team.

Last season, we had a shot at winning 20 games and it rested mainly on a wild-card, Firecracker, who was a very unique talent. Firecracker wasn't skilled by any means. He could only use his left hand, for example, and he had what many would deem as suspect ball handling skills and a below average jump shot. What separated him from every other player I've ever had here was his ability to get teammates to play like they were all on steroids.

Firecracker was a middle linebacker in high school who was very vocal and played with infectious high energy all the time. He was tough as nails too. It was outright amazing to see how he impacted games without scoring at all. Even the bench would go crazy during games. Our energy was so off the charts that the opposing coach contacted me after a preseason game to ask how I got my players to compete so hard. It wasn't my doing at all. Firecracker was the ring leader.

The only problem was that Firecracker was into extracurricular "stuff" and he refused to go to class or do any work. He felt like he could cut deals with Professors for Cs, but I wasn't having that.

Me: I like you a lot, man. There aren't many guys I like here as individuals, but you're a good dude. Do you realize this team could win twenty or more games this year because of what you bring?
Firecracker: I know. I feel like we could be good too.
Me: So then why don't you get your ass to class and do the work? It's not hard! Just do it.
Firecracker: I can't get here early, though.
Me: Why not?
Firecracker: You're a good guy, coach, so I won't lie to you. I'm up hustlin at night.
Me: Give it up. You're a natural born leader--like a Barack-type. You can't take that for granted. Redirect that energy! You're a CEO, dude!
Firecracker: It ain't that easy. I can't. I got bills to pay.
Me: Where are your parents?
Firecracker: (crying) Pops is locked up. He ain't shit. My mom works some bullshit job at Walmart.
Me: Then make your mom proud. Let her see that her hard work paid off! You have it in you.
Firecracker: I know but if I don't do this shit, we can't pay rent.

I wouldn't let him play unless he did the work, so he dropped out of school and we went 15-13 that season. At last check, Firecracker was still peddling drugs too...

Petty Crimes

Suave is in deep trouble. I feel bad about the way things turned out with him. Right now, Suave should be working towards his Bachelor's degree after playing four good years of college ball. Instead, he's just another example of wasted talent in this area. And to some degree I feel like I'm responsible for that.

I suspect every coach wishes he could hit the reset button on a few decisions. Over the course of a season I make numerous decisions that impact my players on a personal level. Those are the ones that live with me the longest. I know full well that if I decide to dismiss a player, his life may unravel afterwards.

I believe in having rules and enforcing them. For example, I have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to stealing. A few years ago I had an agreement with my players whereby anybody who finished with a GPA of over 2.5 could buy sneakers (valued at $90) for $10, and those who fell under that would pay $35 (as long as the GPA was above a 2.0). Everybody got that note except for Suave whose GPA was a respectable 2.43 when the semester ended.

Once grades came in I told everybody what was owed. Each individual came in and purchased his sneakers except for Suave. He balked at having to pay more than everybody else despite agreeing to the conditions initially. Instead of paying for the sneakers, Suave stole them from the team room where they were stashed. When I texted him to bring back the sneakers, he refused and said he'd pay $10 like everybody else. I gave him an ultimatum to either bring them back immediately, or run the risk of being suspended to start the following season.

He decided to call my bluff. Months after the incident, he paid the $35 but I decided it was much too late, especially since he hadn't offered an apology. I suspended Suave for five games to teach him a lesson. Upon returning I told Suave that he had to earn his way back into the starting line-up because in my mind the suspension wasn't enough. This was a big deal because he had been a starter, and our second leading scorer the year before. Six games after his return he decided to quit the team because he grew tired of waiting for his "rightful place" in the starting five...

I've often wondered if I went too far, and if the whole ordeal could've been avoided had I just allowed him to pay $10 since he fell just .07 points short of a 2.5. When he crossed the line, I decided to play hard ball and make him earn everything back because he violated a cardinal rule of mine. Recently I decided to reach out to see if I could help him get back on track.

Me: When are you coming back to school to earn some credits? You only need 12 more credits to transfer.
Suave: What's goin on, man? I got too much goin on right now to do school and plus I'm workin on playing overseas. You got any connects?
Me: I don't have overseas connects but you need to be more concerned with getting a degree then playing overseas right now.
Suave: I know, but me and my man's is workin out on the regular tryin to make this overseas thing happen. That's where my mind is at right now.
Me: How about you enroll in school again and keep working out? You gotta have a fall back plan. And plus you have two years of eligibility left.
Suave: I can't really do school right now because I got shit goin on. I might be doin time.
Me: For what?
Suave: Credit card fraud. They felony charges.

Book Bandit

I have lost faith in people. My love for the game of basketball has evolved manifold over the past six years, but my perception of people has changed drastically. It's hard to keep believing that people are inherently good when each season I witness teammates stealing from each other, or from other students on campus. I've even had a trusted assistant coach steal from me.

I began coaching at the junior college (JUCO) level as a way of redirecting young men who were considered to be hopeless. Years later I still care about the success of my players off the court, but I care just as much (if not more) about how they execute my offensive and defensive sets. Some would say that's a good thing because coaches are supposed to be obsessive technicians of their craft. However, I looked at my Division 3 JUCO gig initially as just a place where the city's forgotten boys could straighten themselves out academically while playing ball.

One of the darkest periods of my coaching tenure was during my third season at the helm. Damn near every guy on the team had a checkered past, but I ignored their trespasses. I wanted to give those guys a chance. At least once a week something ridiculous happened--whether it was a detective showing up at the gym looking for somebody, or a guy kicking in his teammate's car door because he was upset about something frivolous that happened during practice. Another cat pleaded his way into an apartment with his teammates, only to quit a month into the season which left his roommates with an extra $300 of rent to pay for six months. Virtually every guy I extended an olive branch to on that team squandered the opportunity in egregious fashion.

Years after that tumultuous experience, I ran into one of the guys from that team--Thuglife. He fashioned himself as an ex-street cat who left his hometown to get away from that life, but I quickly learned that he wasn't a tough guy. If I ever needed information about a player that season all I needed to do was mention the guy's name and he'd talk. True street types don't operate that way. He was truly a solid guy, but also a lost soul whose conception of being a young black man was warped.

In Thuglife fashion, he immediately started giving me unrequested information when we reconnected. I sat there as he reminisced about all of the shady things his teammates did during that crazy third season. For the most part I found the stories to be amusing, but one recollection really pissed me off.

Thuglife: Coach, you remember Armslong, right?
Me: Of course. What's he up to?
Thuglife: I don't really talk to him no more but that dude was all about some schemes that year.
Me: Armslong? Really? He was harmless.
Thuglife: Yeh. Okay. Haha.
Me: What schemes are you talking about?
Thuglife: (laughing hard) He was stealin books up there at the school.
Me: From the bookstore? I thought it was hard to steal from there?
Thuglife: Nah! He used to break into lockers downstairs in the gym and steal them.
Me: Why?
Thuglife: What you mean, why? He would just go across the street from campus and sell them at the used book store. Dude made mad money doin that!

Brunette Bombshell

Brunette was checking me out. Although I couldn't place her face, it felt like we had met somewhere previously. She was a tall, long-legged white woman with brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Amidst the throng of high schoolers sauntering through the hallway, Brunette's thin physique and semi-professional attire stood out as she rushed through the crowd. She wore a very fitted skirt that cut right above her knees, and black high heels that were seemingly a challenge for her to walk in. The outfit was risqué, to say the least.

Brunette looked very young but given her ensemble, I knew she wasn't a student. I held the door open as she entered the school office, and followed right behind her. Just as I asked the Administrative Assistant for the whereabouts of the counselor who had invited me to visit, Brunette turned around to acknowledge me. She came down to find me because I was scheduled to visit her second period English class.

On the way up to her class, Brunette said that I looked familiar. I thought she was just making small talk. She asked me a series of questions to determine where we could have crossed paths, and it turned out that we attended the same university. However, since I had graduated nine years before her, that commonality didn't really matter--or so it seemed.

Brunette was a student-teacher at the high school, wrapping up her year long practicum. I was very familiar with the school because some of my more troubled players, including one who was accused of robbing a woman, graduated from there. On the other hand, I also taught some other students from that school in my summer Critical Thinking class who were exceptional. The student body was a very mixed bag, so I was curious about the group I had been asked to address.

We arrived at Brunette's makeshift classroom, which was separated from three adjoining classes by dividers, and she introduced me to her group of Juniors. I spoke for forty minutes to the students about my journey to the present, and navigating the college admissions process. Much to my delight, they were attentive throughout my talk and even asked a few questions when I was done. Brunette was seated in the back, listening intently to my story.

After the period ended and the students had cleared the room, Brunette approached me to talk. She had a slight smile on her face but also seemed nervous about what she had to say.

Brunette: Hey, so, I remember where I know you from.
Me: Oh, and where's that?
Brunette: A few years ago I was summoned to court in a case involving one of your players. You were brought there to testify.
Me: Oh yeh. I remember that. Please don't tell me that you were the one he was accused of robbing!
Brunette: No. He didn't rob me. (laughs nervously)
Me: Oh okay. Then why were you in court?
Brunette: I saw the robbery. It was in broad daylight, right by our alma mater.
Me: That couldn't have been. They said he did it at noon, but that's when practice starts and he was there.
Brunette: Somebody got the times wrong because it was definitely him.
Me: What did you see?
Brunette: This woman was pushing her baby carriage and he pulled a gun out on her then grabbed her purse and ran.

Pool Party

Many of my prospects come with a warning label. Unfortunately the red flags aren't always apparent. With each passing year, my radar for sniffing out questionable characters has undoubtedly improved because I keep careful track of every player/prospect interaction. There was one prospect, Chester, who totally slipped detection early in my career. As I think about Chester, I don't believe there's any way I could have ever detected the extent of his issues.

Chester struck me as an ordinary 17 year old, entitled high school basketball star. Those types have a "peacock air" about them in the way they strut on and off a basketball court. They have an air of always being above the fray. For example, they react to their own mistakes by angrily gesturing towards teammates who had nothing to do with the error. This Teflon attitude is also reflected in the way they deal with authority on the court. Regardless of the call made by an official (an obvious foul, for example) they react angrily and allow frustration about the perceived slight to dictate their play thereafter.

I went to see Chester play because his Guidance Counselor told me that his shoddy academic profile may require that he attend a junior college. Chester was defined as being simultaneously able and aloof academically. While he could certainly do the work, Chester opted to do it on his own timeline and was often given lengthy extensions on short assignments. There was another important element that contributed to his uneven academic profile. He was the star point guard of the basketball team who came from a family of gifted athletes that were also prime time at the high school.

Chester was most definitely the best point guard in his league, but I had no need for him on my team. I already had a point guard who was much better than him, and I didn't see them being able to coexist. Despite being an elite player in his league, Chester's game had some serious flaws. He never displayed an ability to drive and finish with his left hand, or make a shot from any spot on the floor consistently. I figured he was in for a rude awakening in college.

By way of some family connection, he got into a 4-year college. As I expected, Chester didn't play much for his new coach. Soon enough, he quit the team even though he was just a Freshman. I asked one of the assistants on that staff what happened with Chester and was surprised to hear what went down.

Coach: He was a really weird kid. I'll tell you that much.
Me: How so?
Coach: He had an issue with girls. He got caught up a couple of times on campus being inappropriate. Eventually he got kicked out of the dorms.
Me: You really just never know with these kids.
Coach: That's not where it ended, though. He got in some serious trouble back in his town for lewd behavior.
Me: Lewd? Like what?
Coach: According to the police report, he whipped his stuff out and started stroking himself while he watched a woman and her young daughter swim...

Nude Awakening

Tanto had serious daddy issues. I didn't know the extent of the problem until we had an unexpected heart to heart one afternoon. Tanto told me just enough so I could get the gist of what was going on with him and his old man. I knew there was a lot more than what he shared, but we didn't have enough of a relationship for him to really open up. In the end, I just told him that I care about his life beyond the basketball court and that his well being was important to me. He heard me, but I knew his wall wasn't coming down any time soon.

Every year at least one player lands on my doorstep unexpectedly. On the second day of school, an older man approached me in the Athletic Center and asked if I coached the men's basketball team. Upon confirming that, the gentleman proceeded to explain that his son (Tanto) was attempting to enroll at the eleventh hour because his plans to enroll at a local four-year college had hit a snag because of financial aid. He noted that his son was a basketball recruit there and would likely be interested in playing for me.

The father told me that Tanto was next door trying to register, so I took a walk with him to introduce myself. At first glance, he looked like a basketball player. Tanto was a shade under six feet and his physique was very much defined. It looked to me like he spent a considerable amount of time lifting weights. That suggested he wasn't from the area because local guys have an extreme aversion to lifting weights.

It turned out that Tanto moved from Florida so he could be closer to his father. Things were doomed from the start, however. In addition to the financial aid issue Tanto encountered at the four-year college he was supposed to attend, his father had just been evicted. That lead to Tanto sleeping on an aunt's sofa while his father tried to get things situated. Tanto thought that would be a temporary arrangement, but little did he know that the rest of his semester would be spent sofa hopping. By the end of the semester, he was living on his grandfather's sofa in a housing project.

I often assume things about my players based on their disposition. It's usually obvious when something is really amiss with a guy. In the case of Tanto, I totally didn't sense things were really off in his world until he texted me one day to say he couldn't make it to practice. Upon receiving the text, I decided to give him a call to get some clarification about what was going on.

Me: What's up, man? You're texting me at 3:40 to say you can't make it to practice yet we start at 3:45.
Tanto: Sorry, coach. I just really can't make it. I have no clothes to wear.
Me: What do you mean? How can you not have clothes to come to practice?
Tanto: I really don't have clothes.
Me: So you're naked right now?
Tanto: Basically...
Me: Do you not have money for laundry?
Tanto: Not really, but that's not the issue. My father has my clothes.
Me: Then get your clothes from him. I don't understand.
Tanto: See. Umm.. It's kind of a long story.
Me: I'm not going anywhere. Tell me what's up.
Tanto: My dad..umm... what he does is move around and stuff, like, I never know where he is. He just, like, comes and goes. Lives with different women. I don't really get to see him.
Me: Okay.
Tanto: Every time he moves, he takes my clothes then I have to figure out where he is.
Me: Can you call him?
Tanto: No. He doesn't have a cell phone. It's disconnected.
Me: This is wild!
Tanto: I know that. You could come here and look for yourself. It's 30 degrees out and I have running pants and a t-shirt on...

High and Dry

Husky was a reputed gang member in the city. After spending two years in prison for slashing somebody during a fight, he decided to try college. That's where we formally met. I watched him play ball in the gym during the preseason with my players and decided to talk to him since he filled a major need. He was a tough, coordinated big body who played like a man. Despite the major need Husky filled, I was very reluctant to work with him.The last time I had knowingly allowed a guy with gang ties to play for me, it didn't turn out well.

That character (Doedoe) ended up being accused of robbing a young woman in broad daylight on a college campus. Months after the initial accusation, I was summoned to court to testify on his behalf. His alibi was that he had been at practice during the robbery--which was true. I took a day off of work to get grilled by a District Attorney. Ultimately, my testimony set him free even though the victim identified him as the culprit. One of my players would later tell me that Doedoe confessed to doing it. I'm still unsure about whether or not I aided a criminal.

Doedoe thanked me after the court proceeding, but I haven't seen him since that day. Ironically, Husky rolled with Doedoe for a time in the same crew. Instead of typecasting Husky as another gang involved cat who would fizzle, I gave him a shot. It actually worked out well for a time until a mishap occurred during a game.

Husky was on probation so he had a tracker hooked up to his ankle. While he went up for a rebound during a game, the tracker came off. It was quite the awkward scene as he kicked the tracker from the court towards our bench. Fortunately, the cops didn't show up right there to arrest him. Husky did the smart thing and turned himself in. Even though he had an explanation for the mishap, Husky was locked up for three weeks. He even missed Thanksgiving with his family.

His girlfriend contacted me and asked if I would be willing to testify on his behalf during a procedural hearing. I agreed to do so. On a Tuesday morning, I grabbed a couple of Assistant Coaches and headed to court. After waiting a couple of hours, I was summoned to the witness stand.

Attorney: Do you recognize that young man?
Me: Yes. I do.
Attorney: In what capacity are you familiar with him?
Me: I'm his Coach. He plays for the Men's basketball team at the college.
Attorney: Can you tell us what happened to the tracking device, sir?
Me: He went up for a rebound and it came off in the gym. I brought additional witnesses to provide further testimony if needed.
Attorney: That won't be needed. In order to play, does he have to maintain a certain grade point average?
Me: Yes. He currently has a C or better in every class.
Attorney: And he's a full time student, correct?
Me: Yes. He's enrolled in four classes. These three weeks in prison have really hurt his grades...
Attorney: Thank you for your testimony, Coach.

The judge set him free that morning. Husky's girlfriend thanked me outside the court room afterwards. A day after coming to practice, Husky abruptly quit the team. I haven't heard from him since...