(Continuation of "That's Gay")
Mouth believed homosexuality was nasty. I engaged him in a long conversation regarding his view of gays, hoping that I could get him to reassess his stance. By no means did I expect Mouth to leave my office feeling differently about homosexuality, but I wanted him to at least see that his tirade was no different than a racist commentator spewing hate about blacks. As a young black man, I figured Mouth would understand that. He couldn't see the parallel, however. Mouth had his mind made up that gays were gross.
I suggested that he take a class titled " Sociology of Sex and Gender" being offered at the college. I knew the Professor teaching the course and figured he could benefit from the experience. After some convincing, Mouth agreed to take the class. I made him promise that he wouldn't disrespect the students or the Professor. He gave me his word that no issues would arise.
True to his word, Mouth was a good citizen in the class. At the midterm break, he had a "B" and had nothing but good things to say about the topics they covered. Mouth was clear that he still didn't accept the gay lifestyle, but agreed that his rant months earlier in my office was over the top. I was proud of him for allowing some evolution to occur.
Towards the end of that semester I wanted to debrief about the class so I could get a better handle of what he gleaned from it. Mouth was happy to share his newfound understanding of homosexuality.
Me: I'm glad you took this class. It was very mature of you to accept my challenge.
Mouth: It wasn't no challenge. I mean, I like sociology topics anyway. I guess you could say I learned something.
Me: And what was that?
Mouth: I definitely realize that a lot of my views were kind of harsh. I mean, it's whatever for me. I get it now.
Me: That's good. See. You evolved.
Mouth: Yeh. It's a condition of the mind, you know. It's kind of like being retarded.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Friday, April 25, 2014
Victory Lap, Part Two
(Continuation of Victory Lap)
Steel was homeless. He resided in a church for a couple of months after the house in which he lived was foreclosed. Despite his miserable circumstances, he remained upbeat about school and playing basketball. Steel managed to earn a 3.3 GPA even though he worked forty hours per week and didn't have a place to call home. When I reached out to ask if he was interested in playing, I had no idea that his circumstances were so dire.
The timing seemed to be right when we connected about his long stated desire to play college basketball. Steel had just found an apartment, and he was able to devise his work schedule to accommodate our practice and game times. I even extended an olive branch since he was driving to practice immediately after work. I told him he could miss the first forty five minutes and just practice with us for an hour and a half.
I didn't view it as a big deal since that segment of practice involved mostly stretching and warm-up drills. By the time he ran in everyday, we were always starting to go over plays. That's where Steel ecountered challenges. Although he was incredibly athletic, Steel had a hard time learning plays. Nothing seemed to stick. He also wasn't blessed with a great pair of hands.
My excitement quickly turned into despair. I couldn't figure out how to make use of his athleticism, and I also wanted to see him on the floor badly given all that he had sacrificed to be with the team. His opportunity came during a game where we had no answer for another team's big man who was killing us under the basket. On a whim, I decided to give Steel a chance even though he wasn't going to run a single play correctly.
Steel responded by blocking several shots and giving us the rebounding presence we were sorely lacking. On offense, I simply told him to play from "block to block" and move in opposition with the ball. Basically if the ball was on the right side, he would be stationed on the left side in order to take his defender away from the play. We came from behind to win that game. Steel never emerged as a major factor on offense, but he provided enough defense to make us a better team...
Steel's last game with us is one I will never forget for a few reasons. Prior to the game I had to deal with two starters who were lobbying to play after missing an entire week of practice because of a car accident. One of the them was my starting point guard and the leading scorer. In the middle of that week I asked both guys if they planned to suit up for the game. Having suffered seemingly major injuries, both said they were definitely out. I was fine with that. One of them even told me that the doctor recommended emergency surgery for a separated shoulder, but on game day he was hoisting shots during our shootaround.
The two starters didn't respond well to being benched. They brooded on the bench about not playing as I watched my team struggle mightily without them. We couldn't even get the ball across halfcourt at one point. The guys were trying, but they were just outmatched. Steel lead the charge with great effort. In a play that I will never forget, he dove on the court for a loose ball as the game ended even though we were down by fifteen points. Most other guys wouldn't have bothered to do that. Steel, on the other hand, decided to go out on his own terms.
A year and a half later, at the age of 32, Steel completed his Associate's degree even though it took a total of four years and countless obstacles to do so.
Steel was homeless. He resided in a church for a couple of months after the house in which he lived was foreclosed. Despite his miserable circumstances, he remained upbeat about school and playing basketball. Steel managed to earn a 3.3 GPA even though he worked forty hours per week and didn't have a place to call home. When I reached out to ask if he was interested in playing, I had no idea that his circumstances were so dire.
The timing seemed to be right when we connected about his long stated desire to play college basketball. Steel had just found an apartment, and he was able to devise his work schedule to accommodate our practice and game times. I even extended an olive branch since he was driving to practice immediately after work. I told him he could miss the first forty five minutes and just practice with us for an hour and a half.
I didn't view it as a big deal since that segment of practice involved mostly stretching and warm-up drills. By the time he ran in everyday, we were always starting to go over plays. That's where Steel ecountered challenges. Although he was incredibly athletic, Steel had a hard time learning plays. Nothing seemed to stick. He also wasn't blessed with a great pair of hands.
My excitement quickly turned into despair. I couldn't figure out how to make use of his athleticism, and I also wanted to see him on the floor badly given all that he had sacrificed to be with the team. His opportunity came during a game where we had no answer for another team's big man who was killing us under the basket. On a whim, I decided to give Steel a chance even though he wasn't going to run a single play correctly.
Steel responded by blocking several shots and giving us the rebounding presence we were sorely lacking. On offense, I simply told him to play from "block to block" and move in opposition with the ball. Basically if the ball was on the right side, he would be stationed on the left side in order to take his defender away from the play. We came from behind to win that game. Steel never emerged as a major factor on offense, but he provided enough defense to make us a better team...
Steel's last game with us is one I will never forget for a few reasons. Prior to the game I had to deal with two starters who were lobbying to play after missing an entire week of practice because of a car accident. One of the them was my starting point guard and the leading scorer. In the middle of that week I asked both guys if they planned to suit up for the game. Having suffered seemingly major injuries, both said they were definitely out. I was fine with that. One of them even told me that the doctor recommended emergency surgery for a separated shoulder, but on game day he was hoisting shots during our shootaround.
The two starters didn't respond well to being benched. They brooded on the bench about not playing as I watched my team struggle mightily without them. We couldn't even get the ball across halfcourt at one point. The guys were trying, but they were just outmatched. Steel lead the charge with great effort. In a play that I will never forget, he dove on the court for a loose ball as the game ended even though we were down by fifteen points. Most other guys wouldn't have bothered to do that. Steel, on the other hand, decided to go out on his own terms.
A year and a half later, at the age of 32, Steel completed his Associate's degree even though it took a total of four years and countless obstacles to do so.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
That's Gay
Most of my players are homophobic. That was highlighted a few years ago when I coached a young man who many of my players perceived to be gay. In addition to wearing his afro in a pony tail all the time, he routinely wore flourescent colors and never talked about girls. I'm sure none of them ever asked him outright about his sexual preference. They just used stereotypical markers to assume his sexuality.
I never sought to find out if the young man was actually gay. It didn't matter to me. During a group meeting early that season I was forced to address the situation when a player took a mean spirited jab at his teammate. As a result of that occurrence, I started making it a point to let my team know that our operation was a hate-free zone at the beginning of each season. My stance has usually been met with some resistance--especially when it has come to the liberal use of gay. They have generally refered to everything bad as being gay.
Years later I was forced to engage one of my players (Mouth) in an exchange about his poor choice of words when he said something was gay. While I wasn't surprised about the depth of Mouth's ignorance, the conversation highlighted that there is still a faction of people who are in the dark ages as it pertains to homosexuality.
Me: Don't say that it's gay. Use a different word.
Mouth: Why? Am I offending you?
Me: You aren't offending me, but your use of language is offensive and unnecessary.
Mouth: It ain't that serious, coach.
Me: How would you feel if people used "black" to refer to stupid things?
Mouth: That's different. And plus, our issues are different than theirs.
Me: How so? We're both discriminated against.
Mouth: They make a choice, we don't.
Me: People are born gay. That's not a choice.
Mouth: First off, people aren't born gay. The bible says that. I was born black. That's very different.
Me: I'm not gonna convince you about that in this sitting, but what I want to do is put you in a Sociology of Sex and Gender course.
Mouth: Why?
Me: It'll be good for you to be in a class that addresses sexuality in depth.
Mouth: Nah. I'm all set. That gay shit is gross.
I never sought to find out if the young man was actually gay. It didn't matter to me. During a group meeting early that season I was forced to address the situation when a player took a mean spirited jab at his teammate. As a result of that occurrence, I started making it a point to let my team know that our operation was a hate-free zone at the beginning of each season. My stance has usually been met with some resistance--especially when it has come to the liberal use of gay. They have generally refered to everything bad as being gay.
Years later I was forced to engage one of my players (Mouth) in an exchange about his poor choice of words when he said something was gay. While I wasn't surprised about the depth of Mouth's ignorance, the conversation highlighted that there is still a faction of people who are in the dark ages as it pertains to homosexuality.
Me: Don't say that it's gay. Use a different word.
Mouth: Why? Am I offending you?
Me: You aren't offending me, but your use of language is offensive and unnecessary.
Mouth: It ain't that serious, coach.
Me: How would you feel if people used "black" to refer to stupid things?
Mouth: That's different. And plus, our issues are different than theirs.
Me: How so? We're both discriminated against.
Mouth: They make a choice, we don't.
Me: People are born gay. That's not a choice.
Mouth: First off, people aren't born gay. The bible says that. I was born black. That's very different.
Me: I'm not gonna convince you about that in this sitting, but what I want to do is put you in a Sociology of Sex and Gender course.
Mouth: Why?
Me: It'll be good for you to be in a class that addresses sexuality in depth.
Mouth: Nah. I'm all set. That gay shit is gross.
Monday, April 14, 2014
Turf Wars
(Continuation of Fight Night...)
Mouth got his ass kicked. He accepted the challenge to step off campus to handle things like men. Immediately after Mouth landed the first punch, his opponent's four-man crew decided to jump in. They managed to get him on the ground and kicked him in the face a few times. Although Mouth's boys jumped in to help, they did so solely as peacemakers. The end result were some minor abrasions to his face and a bruised ego.
The fight had been brewing for several months. It all started in the cafeteria when Mouth took exception to some comments that were being made about the men's basketball team. Somebody said the team sucked, and Mouth told the guy he had no business commenting about basketball since he was "trash." After some more barbs were exchanged, Mouth challenged the heckler to stop talking and step outside. They didn't end up fighting that day. From that moment, however, the beef was on.
Mouth was pissed off as he recounted getting jumped. He was set on dropping his classes. As his coach, I felt the need to intervene so that he wouldn't withdraw and lose all of those credits. I wanted to find a reasonable solution to the problem, but the matter seemed to be deeper than originally anticipated. Mouth was convinced that their quarrel was just the beginning of what could end up being a bad situation.
I understood that Mouth didn't like hearing this guy talk smack about the team. Few athletes would sit by while anybody poked fun at their squad. What I couldn't understand was why they needed to fight about that incident four months later. The disagreement seemed frivolous. I felt the need to dig deeper about the matter to fully assess the situation.
Me: I get why you were upset with this cat. What I don't get is how y'all ended up fighting months after the initial confrontation.
Mouth: Me and him go way back with stuff, like way back.
Me: How far back, and what happened?
Mouth: Years ago, when I was younger. You don't know this about me, but I used to be in a gang.
Me: For real? You? I figured you were selling dope but never assumed you were in a gang. You don't strike me as a gang type.
Mouth: First off, I don't sell nothin'. Not sure why you'd think that.
Me: You don't have a job and you need to eat. And plus, you smoke so I just assumed that's how you're getting by.
Mouth: Nah, not even... but I used to roll with this crew in town. This other dude rolled with our rivals.
Me: So you're still running with this gang?
Mouth: Nah. I got out of it a while ago.
Me: You were in a gang and just got out? What is this? A club membership? Don't dudes get popped for opting out?
Mouth: Not around here. Gangs are corny out here. It was just something to do, but I was tired of getting in trouble for dumb stuff that I wasn't doing. And plus I was smarter than a lot of the dudes.
Me: Why'd you join to begin with?
Mouth: My family life sucked. School sucked. Everything sucked, but they accepted me.
Mouth got his ass kicked. He accepted the challenge to step off campus to handle things like men. Immediately after Mouth landed the first punch, his opponent's four-man crew decided to jump in. They managed to get him on the ground and kicked him in the face a few times. Although Mouth's boys jumped in to help, they did so solely as peacemakers. The end result were some minor abrasions to his face and a bruised ego.
The fight had been brewing for several months. It all started in the cafeteria when Mouth took exception to some comments that were being made about the men's basketball team. Somebody said the team sucked, and Mouth told the guy he had no business commenting about basketball since he was "trash." After some more barbs were exchanged, Mouth challenged the heckler to stop talking and step outside. They didn't end up fighting that day. From that moment, however, the beef was on.
Mouth was pissed off as he recounted getting jumped. He was set on dropping his classes. As his coach, I felt the need to intervene so that he wouldn't withdraw and lose all of those credits. I wanted to find a reasonable solution to the problem, but the matter seemed to be deeper than originally anticipated. Mouth was convinced that their quarrel was just the beginning of what could end up being a bad situation.
I understood that Mouth didn't like hearing this guy talk smack about the team. Few athletes would sit by while anybody poked fun at their squad. What I couldn't understand was why they needed to fight about that incident four months later. The disagreement seemed frivolous. I felt the need to dig deeper about the matter to fully assess the situation.
Me: I get why you were upset with this cat. What I don't get is how y'all ended up fighting months after the initial confrontation.
Mouth: Me and him go way back with stuff, like way back.
Me: How far back, and what happened?
Mouth: Years ago, when I was younger. You don't know this about me, but I used to be in a gang.
Me: For real? You? I figured you were selling dope but never assumed you were in a gang. You don't strike me as a gang type.
Mouth: First off, I don't sell nothin'. Not sure why you'd think that.
Me: You don't have a job and you need to eat. And plus, you smoke so I just assumed that's how you're getting by.
Mouth: Nah, not even... but I used to roll with this crew in town. This other dude rolled with our rivals.
Me: So you're still running with this gang?
Mouth: Nah. I got out of it a while ago.
Me: You were in a gang and just got out? What is this? A club membership? Don't dudes get popped for opting out?
Mouth: Not around here. Gangs are corny out here. It was just something to do, but I was tired of getting in trouble for dumb stuff that I wasn't doing. And plus I was smarter than a lot of the dudes.
Me: Why'd you join to begin with?
Mouth: My family life sucked. School sucked. Everything sucked, but they accepted me.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Fight Night
Mouth had a bad temper. He was one of the first players that I ever threw out of practice. During an intrasquad scrimmage he felt like a teammate was being dirty, which I didn't see, so he took a swing at him while play was going on. I wasn't surprised at what Mouth did. He came to me with the reputation of being a loud mouth who liked to fight.
Ordinarily, tempers flaring has never been an issue for me. I think it's a good thing when teammates are physical in practice, or even square off to fight. Practice tends to be monotonous at times, so I welcome signs of intensity that some would deem counterproductive on occasion. In that case I ejected Mouth from practice because his attitude was awful for consecutive days, and he had voiced some personal issues with me about this teammate previously. I didn't like the premeditated nature of his aggression.
For a while after that spat, Mouth did a great job of controlling his temper. Coming into the season I knew he was a wild card given his past. In addition to being arrested as a teen for fighting, he had been in and out of foster homes. His home life was a mess, and continued to be when he played for me. He and his mom never got along, and (like so many other guys I've coached) his father was barely in the picture. Although he never verbalized it, I felt like Mouth's anger stemmed from having a very turbulent childhood.
Mouth had other issues here as well. He was also a very lazy student who picked up many poor habits from being enrolled at the local alternative high school for a couple of years. As Mouth put it, he never had any real school work there. Although Mouth placed into College level English here, he struggled mightily at first because he wouldn't do any homework. After he failed to heed my warning about getting work done, I suspended him for five games. Ultimately, he ended the first semester with a 2.13 GPA. While modest, that was a far cry from what he was doing in high school.
Mouth actually thanked me for straightening him out with that suspension. After the first semester ended, he continued to do well academically. He had two "Bs" and an "A" during the second semester mid-term break. At one point that semester, I was even stopped in the hallway by a faculty member who wanted to tell me that Mouth had earned an "A" on an oral presentation about Marcus Garvey. He was on track to transfer after the semester if he kept up his grades.
I was really happy with his progress. Things were going well until I received a text from Mouth asking me to call him asap.
Me: Hey man. What's up?
Mouth: I gotta drop out of school.
Me: What? Why?
Mouth: I got jumped by four dudes from school off campus.
Me: Hold up! What? You okay?
Mouth: Yeh. I'm aiight. It sucks to get jumped, but it's whatever at this point. I just ain't tryin to get locked up for retaliating
Me: Damn. I'm sorry this happened. Before you drop out, let me talk to the Dean about this situation.
Mouth: I ain't tryna be no snitch. I don't want no names being dropped.
Me: Okay. Fine. Why do you have to drop out, though? Can't you just go to class then head home? That's fifteen transferable credits you'd be burning.
Mouth: Nah. I'm in class with one of the dudes who kicked me in the face.
Ordinarily, tempers flaring has never been an issue for me. I think it's a good thing when teammates are physical in practice, or even square off to fight. Practice tends to be monotonous at times, so I welcome signs of intensity that some would deem counterproductive on occasion. In that case I ejected Mouth from practice because his attitude was awful for consecutive days, and he had voiced some personal issues with me about this teammate previously. I didn't like the premeditated nature of his aggression.
For a while after that spat, Mouth did a great job of controlling his temper. Coming into the season I knew he was a wild card given his past. In addition to being arrested as a teen for fighting, he had been in and out of foster homes. His home life was a mess, and continued to be when he played for me. He and his mom never got along, and (like so many other guys I've coached) his father was barely in the picture. Although he never verbalized it, I felt like Mouth's anger stemmed from having a very turbulent childhood.
Mouth had other issues here as well. He was also a very lazy student who picked up many poor habits from being enrolled at the local alternative high school for a couple of years. As Mouth put it, he never had any real school work there. Although Mouth placed into College level English here, he struggled mightily at first because he wouldn't do any homework. After he failed to heed my warning about getting work done, I suspended him for five games. Ultimately, he ended the first semester with a 2.13 GPA. While modest, that was a far cry from what he was doing in high school.
Mouth actually thanked me for straightening him out with that suspension. After the first semester ended, he continued to do well academically. He had two "Bs" and an "A" during the second semester mid-term break. At one point that semester, I was even stopped in the hallway by a faculty member who wanted to tell me that Mouth had earned an "A" on an oral presentation about Marcus Garvey. He was on track to transfer after the semester if he kept up his grades.
I was really happy with his progress. Things were going well until I received a text from Mouth asking me to call him asap.
Me: Hey man. What's up?
Mouth: I gotta drop out of school.
Me: What? Why?
Mouth: I got jumped by four dudes from school off campus.
Me: Hold up! What? You okay?
Mouth: Yeh. I'm aiight. It sucks to get jumped, but it's whatever at this point. I just ain't tryin to get locked up for retaliating
Me: Damn. I'm sorry this happened. Before you drop out, let me talk to the Dean about this situation.
Mouth: I ain't tryna be no snitch. I don't want no names being dropped.
Me: Okay. Fine. Why do you have to drop out, though? Can't you just go to class then head home? That's fifteen transferable credits you'd be burning.
Mouth: Nah. I'm in class with one of the dudes who kicked me in the face.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Victory Lap
Steel was my first undocumented prospect. At 25 years of age, he was also one of the oldest players I ever attempted to recruit. Our initial encounter occurred totally by chance. I happened to be in a mood to play basketball and headed to the Athletic Center at my alma mater, hoping some pick-up games would be going on. As I was loosening up to play, I noticed Steel working on some moves alone at a basket. He was an explosive specimen who stood around 6'4 with a very well defined physique. Once he executed a drop-step dunk with ease, I decided that it was time to talk.
Our initial chat was quick. I simply introduced myself and sought to find out if he had ever played college ball. Much to my delight, he had never played college ball. I smelled opportunity. The setting didn't lend itself to a full fledged conversation about his current circumstances so I took Steel's phone number and told him that I would be in touch soon. I quickly discovered that Steel wasn't going to be a typical recruit.
Steel immigrated here to play college basketball on the west coast. After accepting an offer to play, Steel's scholarship was rescinded shortly after arriving to the United States. The coach who had offered the scholarship had either been fired or resigned from the job. His hoop dreams were dashed without ever setting foot on a basketball court. Without a dime in his pocket, Steel had no way to return home. Eventually, he trekked eastward to start a new life with the help of some friends and a sibling who was already living in the states.
Steel had no intention of living in the shadows as an undocumented resident. Given the needs of his family abroad, however, he opted to take odd jobs working under the table. The pay wasn't much, but it was more than Steel could earn working back home. Along with paying for his own living expenses, Steel was also responsible for buying his ailing mother medication who resided two continents away. He did this despite having unreliable transportation in a part of town that didn't offer public transit options.
Over the span of seven years, Steel owned five different cars. He attempted to make the most out of affordable, used cars until they broke down because it was too hard for him to save for a good car and keep his job. Each time a car died on him, he would just move on to the next one. He literally couldn't afford to take any days off...
When we met, Steel couldn't afford to enroll here because he didn't qualify for financial aid due to his undocumented status. A few years after our initial encounter, he married an American--thus taking steps towards becoming a citizen. He called me immediately to share the exciting news. Steel was excited to finally have a chance to be a college student even though he had just turned 30 years old. He applied a year later and was accepted. He also received enough financial aid to enroll. Steel was all set to become a student-athlete until another obstacle arose. The house he was living in was foreclosed.
Steel was suddenly homeless...
(To be continued)
Our initial chat was quick. I simply introduced myself and sought to find out if he had ever played college ball. Much to my delight, he had never played college ball. I smelled opportunity. The setting didn't lend itself to a full fledged conversation about his current circumstances so I took Steel's phone number and told him that I would be in touch soon. I quickly discovered that Steel wasn't going to be a typical recruit.
Steel immigrated here to play college basketball on the west coast. After accepting an offer to play, Steel's scholarship was rescinded shortly after arriving to the United States. The coach who had offered the scholarship had either been fired or resigned from the job. His hoop dreams were dashed without ever setting foot on a basketball court. Without a dime in his pocket, Steel had no way to return home. Eventually, he trekked eastward to start a new life with the help of some friends and a sibling who was already living in the states.
Steel had no intention of living in the shadows as an undocumented resident. Given the needs of his family abroad, however, he opted to take odd jobs working under the table. The pay wasn't much, but it was more than Steel could earn working back home. Along with paying for his own living expenses, Steel was also responsible for buying his ailing mother medication who resided two continents away. He did this despite having unreliable transportation in a part of town that didn't offer public transit options.
Over the span of seven years, Steel owned five different cars. He attempted to make the most out of affordable, used cars until they broke down because it was too hard for him to save for a good car and keep his job. Each time a car died on him, he would just move on to the next one. He literally couldn't afford to take any days off...
When we met, Steel couldn't afford to enroll here because he didn't qualify for financial aid due to his undocumented status. A few years after our initial encounter, he married an American--thus taking steps towards becoming a citizen. He called me immediately to share the exciting news. Steel was excited to finally have a chance to be a college student even though he had just turned 30 years old. He applied a year later and was accepted. He also received enough financial aid to enroll. Steel was all set to become a student-athlete until another obstacle arose. The house he was living in was foreclosed.
Steel was suddenly homeless...
(To be continued)
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Vein Man
Hooper was a very gifted basketball player. He was by no means a Division 1 level player, but among the talent in this area he was head and shoulders above the competition. He was a natural point guard who possessed great court vision and a nice jump shot. I was lucky to have a chance at coaching such a promising, athletic talent as a young coach. As I learned very quickly, however, when talented players like Hooper only have the local Division III junior college as an option to play basketball it's usually because they're carrying heavy baggage.
Hooper was gifted to me by the outgoing Head Coach who left a healthy list of prospects on his way out. My first order of business when I assumed the helm was to connect with Hooper. To my delight, we hit it off really well from the outset. Getting in touch with him was never a problem throughout the summer. I didn't have any issues with him showing up to open-gym before classes began in the Fall either. The challenges began with Hooper once the school year started.
Everyday, there was an elaborate excuse for why he couldn't show up to practice. If it wasn't his long lost grandfather visiting from out of town, it was some other extenuating circumstance that kept him from being with the team. After a couple of weeks I grew tired of the various reasons for his absences. I gave him an ultimatum: he could either fully invest himself, or keep it moving.
A week into the preseason, Hooper came to my office and admitted that his mind wasn't in the right place due to some relationship issues. He was deeply in love with his high school sweetheart and needed to get that situation straightened out before he could really give the team his full attention. This was surprising given the amount of love he professed to have for basketball. Additionally, his grades were suffering immensely and he felt the need to devote significantly more time to that before it was too late. I appreciated his honesty and accepted his need to step away.
Ultimately, he failed out of school. I kept his information on file, however, figuring that he just needed some time to mature before he could take flight. Seven years later I searched for Hooper on Facebook and found him. A couple of weeks after messaging him my phone number, he gave me a call. Hooper was ready to give college another shot.
Me: Hey man. It's great to hear from you! What are you up to these days?
Hooper: I'm just working a regular job at a donut shop. Nothing special.
Me: Do you see yourself doing that in a few years? Give school a shot again. You owe that to yourself.
Hooper: That's a good question. I haven't thought about that. School has never been my thing, you know. I don't know, but the whole idea of ballin again is really making me consider this. I appreciate you reaching out to me again. It mean's a lot, coach. You know how much I loved ball.
Me: No problem. I've always wanted to coach you. Have you played anywhere since you left?
Hooper: Naw. Not at all. The only place I've been is to hell and back.
Me: The real world hasn't been good to you, eh?
Hooper: You can say that. I had to go through rehab not too long ago.
Me: Why?
Hooper: I was hooked on heroin.
Hooper was gifted to me by the outgoing Head Coach who left a healthy list of prospects on his way out. My first order of business when I assumed the helm was to connect with Hooper. To my delight, we hit it off really well from the outset. Getting in touch with him was never a problem throughout the summer. I didn't have any issues with him showing up to open-gym before classes began in the Fall either. The challenges began with Hooper once the school year started.
Everyday, there was an elaborate excuse for why he couldn't show up to practice. If it wasn't his long lost grandfather visiting from out of town, it was some other extenuating circumstance that kept him from being with the team. After a couple of weeks I grew tired of the various reasons for his absences. I gave him an ultimatum: he could either fully invest himself, or keep it moving.
A week into the preseason, Hooper came to my office and admitted that his mind wasn't in the right place due to some relationship issues. He was deeply in love with his high school sweetheart and needed to get that situation straightened out before he could really give the team his full attention. This was surprising given the amount of love he professed to have for basketball. Additionally, his grades were suffering immensely and he felt the need to devote significantly more time to that before it was too late. I appreciated his honesty and accepted his need to step away.
Ultimately, he failed out of school. I kept his information on file, however, figuring that he just needed some time to mature before he could take flight. Seven years later I searched for Hooper on Facebook and found him. A couple of weeks after messaging him my phone number, he gave me a call. Hooper was ready to give college another shot.
Me: Hey man. It's great to hear from you! What are you up to these days?
Hooper: I'm just working a regular job at a donut shop. Nothing special.
Me: Do you see yourself doing that in a few years? Give school a shot again. You owe that to yourself.
Hooper: That's a good question. I haven't thought about that. School has never been my thing, you know. I don't know, but the whole idea of ballin again is really making me consider this. I appreciate you reaching out to me again. It mean's a lot, coach. You know how much I loved ball.
Me: No problem. I've always wanted to coach you. Have you played anywhere since you left?
Hooper: Naw. Not at all. The only place I've been is to hell and back.
Me: The real world hasn't been good to you, eh?
Hooper: You can say that. I had to go through rehab not too long ago.
Me: Why?
Hooper: I was hooked on heroin.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Unjustified Penalty
(Continuation of Previous Story, "Chronic Issue")
Philly got caught smoking weed on campus. Of all places, Philly and his homies decided to light up right behind the Student Life Center which is located at the center of campus. There was no fence or anything else blocking the trio from being seen, but they expected to puff and pass undetected. Although they weren't seen, the fresh smell of bud alerted the building administrator that some students were getting high nearby.
A couple of Police officers showed up and caught Philly with the blunt in his hand. According to the police report, he resisted initially but upon realizing the severity of the situation, Philly cooperated and took a walk to the Dean's office. At that point he was asked to return at a later date for a more formal meeting to address the matter.
At the follow-up meeting, Philly was given a police report to review. After reading through it with the Dean, he opted to plea "no contest" since a trial in front of the judicial board meant he could potentially be expelled from the college. He accepted a lesser punishment which involved being barred from playing basketball for at least half of the next season, and having the infraction attached to his student record. He signed the form and went on his merry way.
All the while, I waited patiently for Philly to tell me about the incident. I saw him in the Athletic Center two weeks after the fact and chopped it up with him for a bit, pretending to know nothing about the episode. He didn't say a word about the violation, or ensuing penalty. During that encounter his eyes were blood shot and he smelled like he had just smoked, but I didn't care to investigate since I had already decided to cut him loose for the entire upcoming season.
After a full month, I informed Philly that I knew about what happened and decided to suspend him for the upcoming season. He feigned ignorance about signing the plea that incriminated him. I even had the Dean send him another copy as a reminder of what he confessed. He still played stupid. The exchange we had about the matter infuriated me so much that I decided to block his phone calls and text messages.
Philly: Why am I being suspended for the season?
Me: What do you mean? I gave you a full month to tell me about what happened and you didn't. Now you have to face the consequence.
Philly: I don't understand. I wasn't even smokin! These cops are lyin!!
Me: They caught you with a blunt in your hand. I saw the police report.
Philly: Okay but they said I was smoking. I wasn't smokin no blunt, coach. I ain't dumb enough to smoke on campus.
Me: Oh. You were just holding the blunt with no intention of smoking it?
Philly: I'm just sayin that I wasn't smokin and I don't see why you're suspending me for the season. That's wack!
Me: Wack?!?! You never came to me about this whole incident and now you want to say this is wack?! Are you kidding me?!?!
Philly: As my coach you supposed to have my back. That's all I'm sayin. I ain't ever give you no trouble before and this is how you play me?
TO BE CONTINUED...
Philly got caught smoking weed on campus. Of all places, Philly and his homies decided to light up right behind the Student Life Center which is located at the center of campus. There was no fence or anything else blocking the trio from being seen, but they expected to puff and pass undetected. Although they weren't seen, the fresh smell of bud alerted the building administrator that some students were getting high nearby.
A couple of Police officers showed up and caught Philly with the blunt in his hand. According to the police report, he resisted initially but upon realizing the severity of the situation, Philly cooperated and took a walk to the Dean's office. At that point he was asked to return at a later date for a more formal meeting to address the matter.
At the follow-up meeting, Philly was given a police report to review. After reading through it with the Dean, he opted to plea "no contest" since a trial in front of the judicial board meant he could potentially be expelled from the college. He accepted a lesser punishment which involved being barred from playing basketball for at least half of the next season, and having the infraction attached to his student record. He signed the form and went on his merry way.
All the while, I waited patiently for Philly to tell me about the incident. I saw him in the Athletic Center two weeks after the fact and chopped it up with him for a bit, pretending to know nothing about the episode. He didn't say a word about the violation, or ensuing penalty. During that encounter his eyes were blood shot and he smelled like he had just smoked, but I didn't care to investigate since I had already decided to cut him loose for the entire upcoming season.
After a full month, I informed Philly that I knew about what happened and decided to suspend him for the upcoming season. He feigned ignorance about signing the plea that incriminated him. I even had the Dean send him another copy as a reminder of what he confessed. He still played stupid. The exchange we had about the matter infuriated me so much that I decided to block his phone calls and text messages.
Philly: Why am I being suspended for the season?
Me: What do you mean? I gave you a full month to tell me about what happened and you didn't. Now you have to face the consequence.
Philly: I don't understand. I wasn't even smokin! These cops are lyin!!
Me: They caught you with a blunt in your hand. I saw the police report.
Philly: Okay but they said I was smoking. I wasn't smokin no blunt, coach. I ain't dumb enough to smoke on campus.
Me: Oh. You were just holding the blunt with no intention of smoking it?
Philly: I'm just sayin that I wasn't smokin and I don't see why you're suspending me for the season. That's wack!
Me: Wack?!?! You never came to me about this whole incident and now you want to say this is wack?! Are you kidding me?!?!
Philly: As my coach you supposed to have my back. That's all I'm sayin. I ain't ever give you no trouble before and this is how you play me?
TO BE CONTINUED...
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Chronic Issue
"Philly" was escorted by Campus Police into the Administration Building. I happened to be walking out of the building while he was being brought into it. Something serious was going on but I didn't care to ask about it at the moment. At that point in the school year, I didn't feel like dealing with nonsense. If anything, I knew that an officer or the Dean would be in touch with me at some point.
The second semester of my sixth year was filled with drama. It all started with my leading scorer tearing his anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) right before the first semester ended. He was a speedy guard we relied on for easy transition baskets since the team lacked a big man who could score inside. I knew that it would be a challenge to replace his production, but I assumed we could weather the storm since we were adding another scorer (Philly) to the team in between semesters. I was wrong.
It didn't help matters that we had a very difficult schedule to begin the next semester. Our first six games were against the top three teams in our league and three Division 2 schools. We lost every single game. The mental toughness of my team quickly came to light as the "captain", with whom I had a very tenuous relationship, started to unravel. He decided to lead his own version of a mutiny against me by doing a number of things to get under my skin--like showing up high for games with Philly and another teammate (Spider).
My back was against the wall. I wanted to kick them off the team, but having already lost a major contributor I didn't think we would be able to compete with anybody in the league without those guys. I was also aware that booting them from the team meant they would all likely drop out of school. Their response to losing a lot was to get kicked off the team--essentially, relieving them of their misery. I didn't take the bait. Instead, I suspended the "captain" from a game to send a message to Philly and Spider.
There were no more weed infractions that season. Even though we had a losing record that semester, we still ended the season with a respectable 15-12 record and a berth in the regional tournament. Still, I couldn't wait for the season to end. When the final horn sounded during our semi-final round loss in the regional tournament I was relieved. The misery was over until I got called into the Associate Dean of Students' office a month later.
Dean: Is Philly one of your guys?
Me: Yes, he is.
Dean: You should know that he got in trouble for having drugs on campus.
Me: Drugs?
Dean: Yes. Marijuana. He was caught lighting up in his car earlier in the week and again a few days later by the Student Life Center.
Me: Was he with anybody?
Dean: Yes. He was with your team captain.
Me: I figured. That's real nice.
Dean: What was funny in this is that he didn't think he did anything wrong.
Me: How so?
Dean: He said he was just holding the marijuana-filled blunt. He wasn't smoking it.
The second semester of my sixth year was filled with drama. It all started with my leading scorer tearing his anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) right before the first semester ended. He was a speedy guard we relied on for easy transition baskets since the team lacked a big man who could score inside. I knew that it would be a challenge to replace his production, but I assumed we could weather the storm since we were adding another scorer (Philly) to the team in between semesters. I was wrong.
It didn't help matters that we had a very difficult schedule to begin the next semester. Our first six games were against the top three teams in our league and three Division 2 schools. We lost every single game. The mental toughness of my team quickly came to light as the "captain", with whom I had a very tenuous relationship, started to unravel. He decided to lead his own version of a mutiny against me by doing a number of things to get under my skin--like showing up high for games with Philly and another teammate (Spider).
My back was against the wall. I wanted to kick them off the team, but having already lost a major contributor I didn't think we would be able to compete with anybody in the league without those guys. I was also aware that booting them from the team meant they would all likely drop out of school. Their response to losing a lot was to get kicked off the team--essentially, relieving them of their misery. I didn't take the bait. Instead, I suspended the "captain" from a game to send a message to Philly and Spider.
There were no more weed infractions that season. Even though we had a losing record that semester, we still ended the season with a respectable 15-12 record and a berth in the regional tournament. Still, I couldn't wait for the season to end. When the final horn sounded during our semi-final round loss in the regional tournament I was relieved. The misery was over until I got called into the Associate Dean of Students' office a month later.
Dean: Is Philly one of your guys?
Me: Yes, he is.
Dean: You should know that he got in trouble for having drugs on campus.
Me: Drugs?
Dean: Yes. Marijuana. He was caught lighting up in his car earlier in the week and again a few days later by the Student Life Center.
Me: Was he with anybody?
Dean: Yes. He was with your team captain.
Me: I figured. That's real nice.
Dean: What was funny in this is that he didn't think he did anything wrong.
Me: How so?
Dean: He said he was just holding the marijuana-filled blunt. He wasn't smoking it.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Wicki Icky
I work with many young men who are ill prepared for college level work. It's very common for me to get guys who don't know where to place a period in a sentence, for example. Their reading levels are equally alarming. I often wonder how so many of them could have graduated from high school.
Thankfully this isn't true of every guy I have coached here. The range of academic aptitude and ability has been broad. The only common denominator between the ones who struggle most has been (un)diagnosed learning issues--most notably Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) and a range of cognitive issues. The ADHD guys are pretty easy to identify (whether it's diagnosed or not), but I have yet to really grasp the other learning issues.
Along the lines of these learning difficulties, it took several years for me to figure out how to teach guys offensive "sets" (i.e. plays). I never understood how I'd go over a particular play repeatedly only to see a player look totally lost weeks later. In some cases it was as if I had never covered the concepts at all. Eventually I learned not to teach more than two plays, and to use film as much as possible to reinforce certain aspects of the offense.
Some people chalk it up to stupidity. I just think some of these guys have never learned how to learn. They treat every new thing like a rubix cube because they have no sense of where to start, or how to grasp a concept. One guy, in particular, "Wiki" had a really hard time with plays and a rather choppy history here academically. I always suspected there was a learning challenge but never quite knew how to bring that up in conversation without offending him. Six years after enrolling here Wicki still didn't have enough credits to graduate. This is supposed to be a two-year school.
Wicki was a really bad student before joining the basketball team. In the three years prior to playing, he had taken ten classes and failed or received an "X" in five of them. After he started playing, however, Wicki only failed or withdrew from two out of fourteen classes. While his grades improved drastically, he was still on shaky ground academically. Five full-time semesters after enrolling, he still had yet to satisfy the English requirement to graduate. As a matter of fact during one of our last academic check-ins his academic deficiencies were brought to light again.
Wicki: I got a problem, Coach. You got a few minutes to talk?
Me: What's up?
Wicki: Man, my ex got me in trouble. I don't even know what's going to happen.
Me: How'd she get you in trouble?
Wicki: So, recently I had a six page paper for one of my classes and I asked her to help me with it.
Me: Did she not help you?
Wicki: She did, but I didn't realize she copied and pasted the whole paper from Wickipedia. I sent it to my Professor without proofreading it.
Thankfully this isn't true of every guy I have coached here. The range of academic aptitude and ability has been broad. The only common denominator between the ones who struggle most has been (un)diagnosed learning issues--most notably Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) and a range of cognitive issues. The ADHD guys are pretty easy to identify (whether it's diagnosed or not), but I have yet to really grasp the other learning issues.
Along the lines of these learning difficulties, it took several years for me to figure out how to teach guys offensive "sets" (i.e. plays). I never understood how I'd go over a particular play repeatedly only to see a player look totally lost weeks later. In some cases it was as if I had never covered the concepts at all. Eventually I learned not to teach more than two plays, and to use film as much as possible to reinforce certain aspects of the offense.
Some people chalk it up to stupidity. I just think some of these guys have never learned how to learn. They treat every new thing like a rubix cube because they have no sense of where to start, or how to grasp a concept. One guy, in particular, "Wiki" had a really hard time with plays and a rather choppy history here academically. I always suspected there was a learning challenge but never quite knew how to bring that up in conversation without offending him. Six years after enrolling here Wicki still didn't have enough credits to graduate. This is supposed to be a two-year school.
Wicki was a really bad student before joining the basketball team. In the three years prior to playing, he had taken ten classes and failed or received an "X" in five of them. After he started playing, however, Wicki only failed or withdrew from two out of fourteen classes. While his grades improved drastically, he was still on shaky ground academically. Five full-time semesters after enrolling, he still had yet to satisfy the English requirement to graduate. As a matter of fact during one of our last academic check-ins his academic deficiencies were brought to light again.
Wicki: I got a problem, Coach. You got a few minutes to talk?
Me: What's up?
Wicki: Man, my ex got me in trouble. I don't even know what's going to happen.
Me: How'd she get you in trouble?
Wicki: So, recently I had a six page paper for one of my classes and I asked her to help me with it.
Me: Did she not help you?
Wicki: She did, but I didn't realize she copied and pasted the whole paper from Wickipedia. I sent it to my Professor without proofreading it.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
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!
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!
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
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...
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...
Saturday, September 7, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
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!
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!
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, September 2, 2013
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...
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...
Saturday, January 19, 2013
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...
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...
Monday, January 14, 2013
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...
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...
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Rival Crews
Husky was a convicted criminal. I had to think long and hard about taking him on the team given the crime he had committed. He admitted to slashing somebody with a blade during a fight and snatching the victim's chain. It was difficult for me to look at that infraction the same way as a petty weed trafficking violation. I needed to take a step back before deciding on how to proceed with Husky.
Instead of cutting him off right there, I listed the expectations that I have of every player--like going to class, getting good grades, and showing up on time. I wanted to see how he would react. Husky was unfazed by my rules. He didn't even flinch or roll his eyes like some other guys have in the past. I also asked him a question that I pose to most cats who are interested in playing for me--that is, what's your greatest flaw?
Some guys can't answer that and when they're unable to do so, I regard that as a serious red flag. As I've noted in previous posts, there's no big secret to my approach with the more difficult characters. I simply look for cues that suggest an individual can be reached. If he doesn't have the slightest clue of just one flaw, for example, then I know he won't be receptive to my direction. It means he's either too stupid (or too stubborn) to look within. In either case, it's damn near impossible to help that type of person turn the proverbial corner.
Along those lines, Husky didn't hesitate to tell me that his attitude could be a problem at times. I walked away from that conversation feeling better about working with him. After a few weeks of school, I noticed that he had a "C" or better in every class so I gave him a call. At that point, I invited him to be part of the team and he accepted the offer.
Husky didn't disappoint at all on the court. He was an animal. Given our needs as a team at the time, he was just what the doctor ordered. It didn't take long for my bubble to burst, however. One night after a game, I decided to hit up a bar to grab a drink. As I sat down a former employee at the Athletic Center, Birdie, tapped me on the shoulder. She needed to talk.
Birdie: I see you got Husky playin for you. You might have some issues there.
Me: Why's that? He's doing fine so far.
Birdie: He switched gangs. He's rollin with dudes his boys used to beef with now.
Me: Huh? How do you know?
Birdie: Because my ex used to roll with him. The word is on the street.
Me: So what does that mean?
Birdie: Really? You don't know what that means?
Me: I don't take these local cats seriously. Dude is a gangster in college. Cmon!
Birdie: Well, dudes is ready to set it on him. They're after him on some serious shit.
Instead of cutting him off right there, I listed the expectations that I have of every player--like going to class, getting good grades, and showing up on time. I wanted to see how he would react. Husky was unfazed by my rules. He didn't even flinch or roll his eyes like some other guys have in the past. I also asked him a question that I pose to most cats who are interested in playing for me--that is, what's your greatest flaw?
Some guys can't answer that and when they're unable to do so, I regard that as a serious red flag. As I've noted in previous posts, there's no big secret to my approach with the more difficult characters. I simply look for cues that suggest an individual can be reached. If he doesn't have the slightest clue of just one flaw, for example, then I know he won't be receptive to my direction. It means he's either too stupid (or too stubborn) to look within. In either case, it's damn near impossible to help that type of person turn the proverbial corner.
Along those lines, Husky didn't hesitate to tell me that his attitude could be a problem at times. I walked away from that conversation feeling better about working with him. After a few weeks of school, I noticed that he had a "C" or better in every class so I gave him a call. At that point, I invited him to be part of the team and he accepted the offer.
Husky didn't disappoint at all on the court. He was an animal. Given our needs as a team at the time, he was just what the doctor ordered. It didn't take long for my bubble to burst, however. One night after a game, I decided to hit up a bar to grab a drink. As I sat down a former employee at the Athletic Center, Birdie, tapped me on the shoulder. She needed to talk.
Birdie: I see you got Husky playin for you. You might have some issues there.
Me: Why's that? He's doing fine so far.
Birdie: He switched gangs. He's rollin with dudes his boys used to beef with now.
Me: Huh? How do you know?
Birdie: Because my ex used to roll with him. The word is on the street.
Me: So what does that mean?
Birdie: Really? You don't know what that means?
Me: I don't take these local cats seriously. Dude is a gangster in college. Cmon!
Birdie: Well, dudes is ready to set it on him. They're after him on some serious shit.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Slice n Dice
I believe in second chances. My coaching career has been defined by this conciliatory approach to some degree. After all, everybody is prone to making mistakes from time to time. In dealing with situations, I often ask myself how I'd want to be treated if the roles were reversed. The usual conclusion is to extend an olive branch, and see if a story of redemption comes about.
Nearly one third of the players I've coached come to me with a checkered past. During my second year, for example, one of my key players was a gang member who decided to leave his hood for a chance to play college basketball. The following season, a "stick-up" kid found his way to my program with the same resolve to turn over a new leaf. In the former case, he ultimately left the gang life behind completely, but the aforementioned "stick-up" kid didn't even make it through half of a semester with me.
The results have surely been mixed along the way. I've come to realize that I can't reach the ones who are fully immersed in "the life." The former gang member didn't change his ways because I touched his shoulder with a magic wand. Before enrolling at the college, he had already taken steps towards cutting the negative influences out of his life. My program just provided him with an outlet to cut those guys out completely. The other character wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He didn't like robbing people, but it was an easy way to get money and whatever else he needed. I also learned later that he suffered from some severe mental health issues that weren't being treated.
The most recent character I decided to take a chance on was Husky. During an "open gym" session for prospective players, he showed up and left a strong impression. Although Husky wasn't incredibly skilled, I liked that he played with passion and toughness. He stood at about 6'3 and had a very solid frame. For the entire hour that the guys played, he clearly stood out among them for his physical presence. I definitely needed him on the team.
There was a problem, however. I knew a little bit about Husky and from what was circulating in the wind, I felt like a conversation was needed before we could talk about basketball. He had a bad reputation around the community as a troublemaker who rolled with a crew in town. Since Husky took it upon himself to enroll in school, however, I figured he was salvageable.
Me: I liked what I saw out there. You're tough.
Husky: Thanks. That's just how I play, man. No fear.
Me: I can see that. What's your story, though?
Husky: What you mean?
Me: I've heard about you. Didn't you do time recently?
Husky: (surprised) Wow. Word flies like that? Yeh. I did time. Right now, I'm on probation.
Me: I'm not asking you these questions to disqualify you. I just want to know what I'm working with.
Husky: Nah. I understand. I'm just here tryin to get an education. Figured I try the college thing. Do the HVAC program and put all that other stuff behind me.
Me: What's the other stuff? Why'd you do time?
Husky: Aggravated assault and battery. I slashed somebody with a blade during a fight.
Nearly one third of the players I've coached come to me with a checkered past. During my second year, for example, one of my key players was a gang member who decided to leave his hood for a chance to play college basketball. The following season, a "stick-up" kid found his way to my program with the same resolve to turn over a new leaf. In the former case, he ultimately left the gang life behind completely, but the aforementioned "stick-up" kid didn't even make it through half of a semester with me.
The results have surely been mixed along the way. I've come to realize that I can't reach the ones who are fully immersed in "the life." The former gang member didn't change his ways because I touched his shoulder with a magic wand. Before enrolling at the college, he had already taken steps towards cutting the negative influences out of his life. My program just provided him with an outlet to cut those guys out completely. The other character wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He didn't like robbing people, but it was an easy way to get money and whatever else he needed. I also learned later that he suffered from some severe mental health issues that weren't being treated.
The most recent character I decided to take a chance on was Husky. During an "open gym" session for prospective players, he showed up and left a strong impression. Although Husky wasn't incredibly skilled, I liked that he played with passion and toughness. He stood at about 6'3 and had a very solid frame. For the entire hour that the guys played, he clearly stood out among them for his physical presence. I definitely needed him on the team.
There was a problem, however. I knew a little bit about Husky and from what was circulating in the wind, I felt like a conversation was needed before we could talk about basketball. He had a bad reputation around the community as a troublemaker who rolled with a crew in town. Since Husky took it upon himself to enroll in school, however, I figured he was salvageable.
Me: I liked what I saw out there. You're tough.
Husky: Thanks. That's just how I play, man. No fear.
Me: I can see that. What's your story, though?
Husky: What you mean?
Me: I've heard about you. Didn't you do time recently?
Husky: (surprised) Wow. Word flies like that? Yeh. I did time. Right now, I'm on probation.
Me: I'm not asking you these questions to disqualify you. I just want to know what I'm working with.
Husky: Nah. I understand. I'm just here tryin to get an education. Figured I try the college thing. Do the HVAC program and put all that other stuff behind me.
Me: What's the other stuff? Why'd you do time?
Husky: Aggravated assault and battery. I slashed somebody with a blade during a fight.
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