Anger Management

It was clear that he had anger issues. Two weeks into practice, Flash showed me a side of himself that I didn't expect. I stood at a distance, shocked, as he punched the wall. The most unsettling aspect of Flash's aggressive display was what triggered it. My Assistant Coach had simply asked him to try harder during a defensive drill and he quickly became defensive. Given how things unfolded so suddenly and randomly, I knew it wouldn't be the last time I'd see that side of him.

Going into the season I spent a lot of time getting to know Flash. Since he was going to have the ball in his hands a lot, I made it a point to really understand his thought process. Over the course of three months, we talked about a lot beyond basketball. I learned about his plans to rob Walgreens. He told me about his mother's drug addiction, and the night he narrowly escaped a gunman's wrath. Despite these tragic stories, I never got an explosive vibe from Flash. He was always mild mannered in my presence, and the few times I'd seen him around his peers he didn't seem volatile.

Flash didn't make it through a full season of basketball through four years of high school, but I was lead to believe it was because of his academic struggles. Within a month of working with him, I learned that he was a delicate package. Given his past, the slightest action could set him off.  One evening, a month or so after his boxing match with the wall, I was summoned to his apartment by a terrified teammate.

Stix: You need to talk to Flash, Coach. He's out of control.
Me: What happened?
Stix: Talk to him. I don't want any part of this but I don't want anybody threatening me. I didn't do anything. I just tried to break it up.
Me: Break what up?
Stix: Like I said, Coach, talk to him...

I walked down to Flash's room to get to the bottom of the issue. On the way in, I noticed a big hole in his door.

Me: What's with the hole? You know this has to be paid for, right?
Flash: I don't care about all that right now.
Me: Why'd you do it?
Flash: (silence)
Me: You didn't look right in practice today. Now I see a big hole in your door and you got a roommate feeling uncomfortable.
Flash: Nobody told him to get in between.
Me: In between what?
Flash: Me and my girl got into it.
Me: Arguing? That's why you punched the door?
Flash: She started it, Coach. I told her to stop hitting me, but she don't listen when she's mad.
Me: So Stix got in between you and her and then you punched the door? I don't understand.
Flash: Nah man. Stix walked in as I punched her. I did that to the door afterwards.

Relapse

Thugs have feelings. They often have legitimate goals too. In the case of Thuglife, he wears every emotion on his sleeve and he wants to be a college graduate. After two seasons with me, Thuglife is now looking forward to taking his talents to a 4-year college. In the meantime, he's dealing with some weighty issues at home.

For as long as I've known Thuglife, he has been clear about the hood being his home. He goes back whenever the opportunity arises. He has friends there, many of whom are gang affiliated. He also has relatives there. Among those many relatives is his Mom.

In 2002, Thuglife left his Mom in the hood and relocated to his Aunt's suburban home. He lived there, in affluence, for several years and graduated from the high school in town. Despite leading a better material life away from his mom who was battling a crack addiction, Thuglife has rejected his suburban existence and continues to embrace the ghetto...

Thuglife was happy to see me. I was on my way into the office when we randomly crossed paths. From the outset, he did most of the talking. It was clear that he had a lot on his mind. He had recently visited a Private, Liberal Arts campus and fell in love with the place. Beyond that, he was contemplating his summer plans which involved moving back to the hood.

Thuglife: I'm gonna be moving in with my brother once the school year lets out.
Me: Why are you moving in with your brother? Don't you usually go to your mom's?
Thuglife: Yeh but she's pissing me off right now. Me and her kinda went at it the other day.
Me: Why?
Thuglife: (eyes watering) She back on that stuff. Shit's makin me mad. I wanna fuck these dudes up who are sellin her shit. Excuse my language. I'm just mad.
Me: How do you know she's doing it again?
Thuglife: I could just tell by looking at the corners of her mouth. She been actin' funny too and her face doesn't look the same. Trust me. I know.

Karma

America is beautiful and ugly at the same time. Our financial aid system provides a great example of this. Many low-income students who attend Community Colleges are able to do so because a Federal Pell Grant covers the cost of attendance and other educational expenses, like books or a laptop. Unlike loans, grants don't have to be repaid. A full Pell Grant recipient at my college who's enrolled full-time will get a refund check of $1100, for example. The gross aspect of this very generous arrangement is that some Pell Grant recipients misuse the money.

Speedy got robbed twice in the span of two weeks. Given that Speedy lived in an apartment complex on a residential street, it seemed odd that this could happen to him twice during the late morning hours without somebody noticing. The other curious detail about the robberies was that both of the heists occurred while Speedy was in class.

The police didn't offer much help according to Speedy. They did their due diligence by showing up to the scene, but Speedy felt like his family was being accused given the line of questioning. Without the police on their side, his family stood to lose thousands of dollars in stolen electronics. Speedy was at a loss for what to do.

Speedy reached out to me, but I couldn't do anything to help. He suspected somebody at school was involved (re: Best Buds), but since the crime occurred off campus I couldn't get Campus Police involved. I tried to get every possible detail of the situation hoping to glean some information that could help him crack the case.

Me: So you really think somebody from school did it?
Speedy: Yeh.
Me: Why though?
Speedy: I just have a feeling.
Me: I can't tell Campus Police that you have a feeling somebody on campus broke into your crib. That doesn't hold any weight. What did they steal the second time?
Speedy: They took my new flat screen, all my sneakers, and my new X-Box.
Me: I thought you said your X-Box and flat screen got stolen the first time?
Speedy: Yeh. They did. With my financial aid refund check I went out and bought a new flat screen and X-Box after I got robbed the first time.

Two weeks before this all occurred, Speedy had to drop his Spanish class because he didn't buy the books that were required for the course.

En Fuego

She had herpes. I didn't even know what to say after she dropped that bomb on me. It was incredibly awkward to say the least. Thank God I found out while we were fully clothed in my living room.

Before Mish came over I had decided that everything would stay above the belt if anything was gonna go down. We didn't even get to swap saliva. She got free liquor from my stash and I received an odd confession in return. It was a great deal for her. The guy in me wanted to kick her out, but the humanitarian decided to listen.

Mish seemed to be really troubled. Through tears Mish told me about how she contracted the disease. She graduated from a top-tier Liberal Arts college in the area. As a college junior she was messing around with different guys unprotected and one of them passed it on to her. She had an idea of who the charitable donor was but never confronted him about it. She just wanted the problem to go away. Mish's bigger concern was that she had just passed it on to an unsuspecting guy she met at the club.

Me: If y'all had sex once, maybe he didn't get it. Has he called you to say anything?
Mish: No. He hasn't called.
Me: Are you gonna tell him you have it?
Mish: I mean, I have to. I don't even know how to say it, though.
Me: Well, it was just one time, right?
Mish: Actually more than that. I'm so horrible!! He's such a good guy too. A lot of people know him and stuff. He's very involved in the community.

As she continued to talk, it became clear who the guy was. He was a fellow basketball coach in town who was twice her age...

Disco Inferno

I was slowly digging myself a grave. First, it was the pitcher of Miller Lite that followed every loss. That was compounded by a newfound habit I developed of smoking cloves on a daily basis. I knew things were getting out of control when I began frequenting strip clubs just to get my mind off of things even though I abhored that industry. The final salvo that almost changed my life drastically started with a woman at the mall and ended hours later in my apartment. It's a night that I'll never forget.

A week into preseason training, I declared to my players that they had the makings of a championship team. I took it a step further on another occasion telling them that they could end up being the most special group I would ever have the privilege of coaching. Three years later I still remember that team, but it's for all the wrong reasons. We started off 0-3 that season. The third loss was a 52 point ass-whooping on the road that came out of nowhere. I took the loss hard.

Midway through the season, we were still floundering. I was at a loss for how to right the ship. The mid-semester break couldn't  have come soon enough. One evening after work I decided to go shopping for Christmas gifts at the mall. I came upon a gift that I didn't expect. It was the kind of gift that keeps on giving. 

While I was in the food court ordering a meal, I noticed a young woman (Mish) looking at me. Mish was clearly waiting for me to notice her. I returned her glance. Soon thereafter, we began talking. During that exchange Mish offered her phone number to me and asked if I could call in a couple of hours. She wanted to head out in the city after her shift. I was game. It was too good to be true.

I ignored the 48 hour rule and called Mish as she had asked me to. It was around 11 p.m. when I called. Mish said she'd take a half hour to get ready. Two hours later, an hour before the bars closed, Mish told me she was ready to head out. I knew what the meant.

Before picking her up, I decided that we wouldn't have sex. My intuition told me not to go there. She asked if we could head to my apartment for drinks. I heeded her wish. While we were drinking, Mish suddenly became emotional. She started crying.  A night that had such great potential suddenly became  really weird.

Mish: I'm such a horrible person. You must think I'm some kind of slut.
Me: (lying) No. No. Not at all. Did I say something to make you think that? You're the one who wanted to come through at 1 a.m. I thought we were going out for drinks.
Mish: It's not you. I just have a lot on my mind. I'm such a horrible person. I suck!
Me: It's really not that serious. I can take you back home.
Mish: No. I need your company. You seem like a nice guy.
Me: I don't really know you like that.
Mish: You just give me a nice vibe. Please don't make me leave.
Me: Umm.. What?!? Do you have a boyfriend or something?
Mish: No. Well, sort of. I don't know. I don't know what we are. We just met a couple of weeks ago.
Me: So then what's the problem?
Mish: I'm horrible. Awful. I don't deserve to live. I met him at a club. We went home afterwards and had sex.
Me: Why are you telling me all of this???? I don't understand.
Mish: I think I gave him herpes!

Tooth Fairy

His family situation was a mess. Hood is like most other young men I've coached in that he has no relationship with his biological father. He lived with his mother. When I met Hood for the very first time in his home, his mom was the one to let me in. She politely greeted me with a firm handshake and a muffled hello through the hand that covered her mouth.

I used to think most boys grew up with a mom and dad, like I did. It didn't occur to me until much later in life that many fathers are regarded simply as sperm donors. These days when I meet a guy who's actual dad is involved, I'm shocked. Fatherhood seems to be a thing of the past...

My conversation with Hood went on for nearly a half hour, I recall. He expressed deep regret for what he termed "the situation" at his previous college where he stole money from his Coach's home and failed off the team. He talked about wanting to take advantage of his talent, and being the first in his family to graduate from college. Upon leaving, we set up a time to meet again so he could register for summer classes. He seemed genuinely happy to have another shot at living his hoop dream.

Hood's mother accompanied him to campus. Again, she greeted me warmly while covering her mouth. She thanked me for reaching out to her son. Tears started trickling down her cheeks as she spoke to me through her hand. I was taken aback by the moment. I told her that I'd do everything possible to redirect the path of her son. She cried even more. Hood stood there silent, embarrassed by the moment.

I called Hood's former coach (DS, the one he stole from) just to get some more details about his experience there. DS had mentioned a learning disability when we last spoke, and I wanted to get some more information about that since Hood never brought it up.

Me: I met with Hood. He seems like a good kid. Unless he's putting on an act, I think he's really looking to do differently here. How did you know he had a learning disability?
DS: Look at his high school transcript. He was in all "Learning Resource" classes.
Me: Did he send you an IEP or anything?
DS: He did, but it was old. I don't know if he could use it up there at this point. That kid has it rough. It's a wonder that he got this far in life.
Me: Why do you say that?
DS: He's got nothing! His mom is a drug addict. He's dirt poor. The kid has learning issues. He's a thief. The list goes on!
Me: Hold on! Did you just say his mother is a drug addict?
DS: Yes. A drug addict. That's between you and I. Didn't you notice that she covers her mouth when she talks? She has no teeth!

Best Buds

A close "friend" can be your greatest nemesis. Sometimes it's a matter of misery loving company, which leads a struggling friend to incapacitate those around him. In other cases jealousy can be mistaken for admiration. There's a fine line between the two, and it's a difficult distinction to make. In the time it takes to identify a jealous friend as an actual enemy, a lot of damage can occur along the way.

Speedy has a problem identifying trustworthy friends. Part of the reason for this is that he stands at the threshold of the Bubble. Speedy has one foot planted firmly in the world of delusion, but he's intelligent enough not to continually make the idiotic decisions that full fledged Bubblees tend to make. As a result of being so close to the Bubble, Speedy has more than a few friends on the other side.

I identified Speedy as a Bubblee through a situation that occurred after the season had ended. One of his teammates, Lanky, was selected to play in the All-Region game. However, Lanky got into a fight at a club and fractured his hand weeks before the game was supposed to be played. To my great surprise, Speedy told teammates that I had selected him as Lanky's injury replacement. This was interesting to me since I never even had a conversation with Speedy about the All-Region game...

About a month before the season ended, Speedy had his Iphone stolen from his apartment. Apparently a friend of his, who happens to be a drug addict, stole the phone after he had let her in to use the bathroom. He eventually recovered the phone, but it wouldn't be the last time a friend blindsided Speedy.

Speedy: Coach, remember how I told you about my phone being stolen?
Me: Yeh.
Speedy: Tell me why my place got robbed the other day.
Me: What do you mean?
Speedy: Like, my place got robbed. Somebody broke in and stole our flat screens, my laptop, and other stuff.
Me: Damn. Really? You get the cops involved.
Speedy: Yeh. They came through and dusted the crib. You know what's messed up, though?
Me: What?
Speedy: I think one of my friends did it.
Me: Why?
Speedy: Well, he's kind of shady like that. The day before my place got hit, he came through the crib to chill.
Me: Have you called him?
Speedy: Yeh and he ain't pickin up.
Me: First your cell phone, and now this. Wow. What's up with your choice of friends?
Speedy: Right?!? I guess I have a hard time pickin the people I roll with.

Smarty Pants

Good grades are not the sole indicator of intelligence. They simply mean that one is able to meet deadlines and follow directions. While that shouldn't be taken for granted, people often forget that grades are a social construct. I've met more than enough people who are high functioning in a classroom, yet dumb as rocks in social settings.  By that I mean they're able to complete complex tasks that are given by a teacher, but when faced with situations that involve unfamiliar variables, they're without a clue.

Manu was one of the most high achieving guys I've coached. The average player has to meet with me twice a month during the semester to check in about grades. Manu, on the other hand, wasn't required to meet with me at all. As a matter of fact, in four semesters with me his lowest grade was a "C." He even got a B in Precalculus!

Despite being a good student, Manu could never carry a conversation with me. At first I thought he was just shy. As time passed, however, I determined otherwise. I really got the picture when I found out he was dating a senior in high school despite my many warnings to the team about statutory rape.  He's 20 years old and she isn't 18 yet.

At the end of his sophomore season, Manu and I had a conversation about his future. I was left puzzled by the exchange.

Me: You really need to start taking your job seriously or you're going to get fired.
Manu: It's just a part-time job so it ain't that serious.
Me: It is that serious! People can't find jobs these days. 
Manu: I'll get unemployment if they fire me. I think that's why they haven't done it yet.  
Me: Are you serious, man? I guess that makes sense for you, though. Right?
Manu: (laughs)
Me: What are you doing for school in the fall?
Manu: I don't know yet.
Me: Didn't you tell me you were interested in UML?
Manu: Yeh. I am.
Me: So then why haven't you applied?
Manu: I don't know how to.
Me: What? Are you kidding me? Just go online and read the damn directions.
Manu: No. Seriously, coach. I even needed help when I was applying to come here.

Our application process does not require an essay or a letter of recommendation. We simply ask for biographical information, intended major, high school(s)/college(s) attended, and a final high school transcript.