It has been many years since my first coaching job, and I have seen many student athletes come and go. Perhaps it is fitting that I pause for a moment and look back on those years and at the sea of faces that looked at me as I spoke and with whom I spent so much time, so many days.
Make no mistake, I remember them all. I remember the athletes who could not be held back; who shone like the stars; who made even the most complicated plays seem effortless; who picked up everything as easily as you or I would pick up an evening paper. I remember those to whom everything was an arduous task requiring hours and hours of grueling work for the simplest operations. I remember those who came expecting to find glory only to find mud, scratches, and sore muscles. I remember those who only wanted to give of themselves for the good of the team. I remember cases that lightened my heart and enriched my soul. I remember cases that broke my heart. Yes, I remember.
I remember one boy, let’s call him Tom, who came to me one afternoon and, with great fervor in his voice, told me that he wanted to be on the team. He was a handsome young, with twinkling eyes and a winning smile. He looked to be in good physical condition, obviously had the desire to play, and his right arm was missing just below the elbow.
I will tell you honestly that I had serious doubts. I have always believed in honesty with my athletes, and I told him of my reservations. He answered that he understood, but that all he wanted was a chance to try. I told him that I could provide that, at least.
Tom had a prosthesis, an artificial hand and forearm, that he used with amazing skill. He wanted to be a kicker, and when the ball was snapped to him, he would use that artificial limb to trap it, steady it, and then kick the ball with amazing skill and accuracy. It wasn’t easy for him, I don’t want you to get that idea, but when this boy got knocked down he picked himself up and got back to it with an even fiercer determination to try harder.
In short, he made the team, not because he lacked an arm, but because he had aggressiveness, fortitude, courage, and a great deal of talent.
It was shortly into the first game of the season that he got a chance to try that skill. Five minutes into the game, it was fourth down and from the sidelines I told him what to do, and he was off
Unfortunately, our line did not hold, and several of the opposing linesmen were all over Tom. He got the ball off, but found himself under a pile of bodies. As they were untwisting themselves, one of the opposing linesmen reached down and offered Tom a hand up. Tom, whether on purpose or without thinking, extended his artificial limb to the boy, and the lad took it and pulled.
There was a snap, and the opposing player was standing there with Tom’s hand clutched in his own while Tom, on the ground, shouted, “What have you done with my hand? Give it back!”
Whereupon, the linesman looked at Tom, looked at the object in his hand…and fainted dead away!
It took every official on the field, both coaches, and fifteen minutes of clamor and fast explaining before it finally got settled.
That was one of the times when we laughed until the tears filled our eyes, but not all the times were like that. There was, for instance, my first brush with the problem with drugs and drug abuse.
We’ll call the student Johnny. It was his second year on the team. During his first season, he has shown unqualified promise, and I was looking forward to this year and what he would accomplish with one season’s experience added to his vast array of skills. Frankly, I dreamed of what the boy could accomplish. I would never find out.
I remember with frightening clarity how we sat at a team meeting one day. As I was talking, explaining some play, I noticed Johnny out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were shut and he was weaving back and forth as he sat on the bench. “Excuse me, Sir,” I said in a light manner, “am I boring you with this material?” There was no answer from Johnny, although several of the other players giggled. “Johnny,” I said, “is something wrong?” Johnny collapsed. I barely caught him, and, as I lowered him to the floor, I became aware of his shallow breathing, his caked lips, the bluish tinge to his ashen pallor. The trainers and I were on him at once, the emergency squad was called, and Johnny did not die that day. We discovered that an overdose of barbiturates had caused this problem.
His friends spoke to him; his parents spoke to him; ministers, psychologists, and case workers spoke to him; and I spoke to him. I told him the future he had before him. I spoke to him of what he could accomplish, on his own, without the crutch of drugs. I told him how we would be happy to help him back to the team when he was well.
I saw him only once after that. It was five years and four days from the day in the locker room when he collapsed into my arms. I stood and looked at him as he lay in his coffin, dead of an overdose in some dark corner where no one could get to him in time.
But I would not for the world have you think that Johnny’s was a typical story. Far from it! Johnny was the exception to our fine young athletes; he was no the rule. The majority and I mean 99.9 percent, of the players I coach live lives of dedication and devotion to their skills that make me proud to be among them.
There was, for example, a student we’ll call Bill. Bill was easily the most talented player I ever coached. To say that he was an outstanding player is to do him a disservice. He had a brilliant mind; a strong, healthy and highly trained body; and an ability to think on his feet that you see few times in your life. You only had to see him play once to know that here was someone very special, indeed, and someone who was headed for a lifelong career in professional sports. Indeed, during his senior year, he was literally besieged by recruiters from major universities and some not so major. Quite frankly, he could have had his pick.
One late fall afternoon, he asked if he could speak to me after practice. I imagined that he was going to ask my advice concerning the offers he had received, and I had a thought or two on the subject that I wanted to share with him. I was not prepared for what he has to tell me.
He thanked me for my help, which I brushed off lightly, asking, in turn, if he had decided on a college. He told me that he had, and he mentioned the name of some place I had never heard of. I supposed my face may have registered surprise, for he added, “Don’t worry; they have a coach there that I’ve always wanted to play for.” “Oh,” I said, trying to make some sense out of what he was saying, “and who might this great coach be?” He looked at me squarely and said only one word—“God.”
After that, there was no argument. He went to that school and became a minister. He realized his dream, and he played on God’s team. From all accounts, he was as marvelous on that field as he had ever been on mine. Someone once said to me concerning Bill, “Look at all he gave up!” To which I answered, “No. Think of all that he found.” Indeed, whenever this world gets me down, I find that memory of Bill helps me to view things in a slightly different, slightly happier perspective.
I suppose that it is natural, considering the fact that I work so closely with young people, that I am often asked my opinion about the future of this world and of mankind in general. I suppose people figure that because I get to know the young people who will make up that future, I am in position to know. Well, I guess I am, after all. I work with these boys, and I get to know them intimately. I get to see into their minds and hearts, I watch them as they strive and work, I am there as they battle and work together for common goals. Yes, I know them.
With that knowledge as my guide, I have no hesitation in telling you that the future is bright indeed, Yes, certainly there are the Johnnys who throw away their lives and futures, but there are also the Toms who refuse to be held back by any handicap and who will give countless hours of effort to overcome whatever stumbling blocks are placed in their way, material rewards of this world to work for the greater good of all mankind.
I am sorry for the Johnnys of this world, but I have pride, love and hope in the Toms and Bills who abound and flourish, and who will make our future, the future of all mankind, something bright, shining, and fine. That I have shared their lives; that I have had a part, however small, in the shaping of those lives; that I live in a world, the future of which will be shaped by them—this fills me with the happiness as it should fill each and every one of you with hope and a vision of tomorrow of which we may all be justly proud!
