Stephens Middle School is one of three or four schools in the district that are similar to our school in size, ethnic mix, and socioeconomic level, so I was looking forward to playing them tonight. Also, their coach is one of the few guys in the city who’s been at his post longer than I have, and this would be our first match-up. I was looking forward to the competition, but I was also hoping for a win. We got the competition, but not the win.
Things went bad almost immediately after the tip-off. I felt like we were playing well -- moving the ball on offense, standing our ground and boxing out on defense -- but we weren’t hitting our shots and they were. With about two minutes left in the first quarter we were down 11-0, and I was longer worried about winning; I was desperate to stave off the embarrassment of a scoreless opening quarter. Thankfully, Jeremiah scored with about a minute and a half left, and everyone seemed to relax. His lay-up triggered a 10-2 run that brought us to within three midway through the second quarter, but the pendulum would soon swing back in the other direction. We played well for most of the night, but each time we pushed the boulder up the hill, it would just roll back down on top of us again. We were never quite able to make up for that 11-0 start, even though we outscored them by two points over the second and third quarters. With about two minutes left in the game, the Stephens coach emptied his bench and I did the same. Garbage time was unkind to us, so the 55-35 final score belied the competitiveness of the game.
As it turned out, the Stephens coach and I have similar styles. We both stand for much of the game, constantly barking instructions to our players. At one point during a particularly sloppy stretch in the second half, we ended up right next to each other on the sidelines. He put his arm on my shoulder and said, “Can you imagine if they could fire us when our kids play crappy?” I laughed and thought of my principal’s visit from the previous week. After the game as our team’s were shaking hands, I mentioned to him that I was feeling some pressure from my principal, and he was stunned. He gave a two-word response: “She’s insane.”
In the locker room afterwards, the mood was very different. It was easy to explain away the Hamilton loss, because they were obviously a more talented team. The season was still young. Even after the Robinson loss, we could comfort ourselves with the knowledge that we had outplayed them only to be done in by missed shots and turnovers. After this game, however, with the season more than half over, it was impossible to ignore our 0-3 record. As Bill Parcells is fond of saying, at a certain point, you are what your record says you are. 0-3. I didn’t have much to say to the boys immediately after the game, because I had run out of material. I also knew that whatever I might’ve said during those few minutes following the defeat would not have been heard. It would have to wait until tomorrow.
And so I gathered the jerseys and bagged the balls and left the gym, only to be met by two of my least favorite people -- disgruntled parents. In this case they were actually disgruntled uncles, but they were still reading from the same script. When the team is winning, you don’t usually hear from these people, but when the losses start to mount, you can count on them. Without fail, they fall into one of two categories: 1) My son/grandson/nephew/little brother is good. Why isn’t he playing more? or 2) Why isn’t this team winning? On this night, these two guys, uncles of Andrew and Eric (the boy who wouldn’t leave and was taken back onto the team only out of the goodness of my heart) hit me with both barrels. First, the presentation of resumees. Uncle number one, who looks an awful lot like Forrest Whitaker, played high school and college baseball. Uncle number two played college basketball and even won a national championship. (I doubt this seriously, and it was all I could do not to ask him where and when.) Anyway, in their minds, all of this athletic experience makes them eminently qualified to criticize my coaching. Obviously, we weren’t winning, they said, and didn’t I think it would be better for the team if Andrew played a bit more, if only to give the two starting guards some rest? They even acknowledged that Eric wasn’t as good as Andrew and thanked me for taking him back on the team. They continued to admit that if we were winning, they wouldn’t be talking to me. All of this made it difficult for me to argue with them. I should’ve walked away at this point, but I didn’t. Perhaps they saw this as a sign of weakness, because then they really started in.
It wasn’t enough to discuss Andrew and Eric, what they really had on their minds was the team in general. They didn’t feel there was enough effort. They couldn’t understand why our two starting guards never came out of the game. They didn’t know why couldn’t focus on our layups. They wondered why we weren’t boxing out. I nodded and let them ramble on. It’s difficult for me to know how to react in situations like this, probably because I’ve always been more than a little insecure about my coaching abilities. Having never played basketball at anything close to a competitive level, I’m constantly questioning myself -- this makes it almost impossible to defend myself. So I usually just nod.
Uncle Forrest was sure he could help out, and he asked if they could come to practice to observe. “No problem. We’ll see you at 3:15.” Without question, I’ve had worse run-ins with parents; this was relatively painless. We’ll see if it stays that way.
Comments