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!
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