JamRock

He never gave a fuck about me. As a matter of fact, few of the guys I've coached really care for me on a personal level. I didn't get into this business to make new friends, or associates. My sole purpose for taking on the role of Head Coach four years ago was to work with the at-risk population I saw as an assistant on the staff. I knew I could use basketball as a carrot to help troubled young men rise above perpetual hopelessness.

One such individual I tried to reach was Jamaica. I met him late one night on a UPS loading dock during a recruitment trip for work while he was going in for the graveyard shift. He was wearing a New York Knicks basketball jersey, blue jean shorts, and Timberland work-boots. I had never seen Jamaica around town before, but his physique and the clothes he chose to wear lead me to believe he could be a basketball player. !

Jamaica had graduated from high school two years before. He wasn't a star on his basketball team by any means. The thought of going to college crossed Jamaica's mind, but he never actually took steps towards enrolling until I brought an application to his living room. We sat and spoke for awhile in his apartment. He told me about not having reliable transportation. I agreed during that sitting to drive him to school whenever he needed a ride. I held true to my word once the season started. I never charged him for gas either. I felt good about the conversation. The next step for me was to actually see him play.

Athletically, he was gifted. He could dunk in flip flops with two hands. As a young Head Coach, I assumed this would translate into instant success. I was wrong. Not only did he have difficulty learning plays, I increasingly came to realize he had bad hands and terrible footwork. In Jamaica's mind, however, he was a guard--a very talented one at that. He came off the bench to start his first season and played roughly 15 minutes per game. We didn't have any major issues that first year except for the occasional expression of his desire to play more.

Between his first and second year, I saw some improvement in his decision making on the court. During open gym that summer, he was usually the best player on the court. That summer, he also worked my annual basketball clinic. I let his younger brother participate for free.

When the season started months later, I saw virtually the same first year player who was prone to making bad decisions. After some time, we began to clash. I became very impatient with him. He accused me of playing favorties and being unfair in my assessment of him. We were no longer cordial. When the season ended, he decided to hold on to his uniform long after the imposed deadline to return it. In response, I opted not to give him his sweat suit.

He went to the Athletic Director to report me. I texted him afterwards.

Me: You really went to the AD even though I asked you to bring the uniform back, and told you what the consequences would be?
Jamaica: Yup
Me: You still aren't getting the sweat suit. The AD has nothing to do with this.
Jamaica: I don't think you're being fair.
Me: After everything I've done for you, you decided to go to her instead of just coming to my office and apologizing.
Jamaica: Everything you've done for me, like benching me? I only played like ten minutes a game this year!