The End of Football

Football has come to a bittersweet and pretty tragic end.  To be specific, The Coach coached two teams this year.  Jack's Junior Varsity team, and a Varsity team.  Well, actually it was one team, just broken down into two, similar to middle or high school JV/V teams.

This post is not about Jack's JV team.  I am going to post about that after the banquet next week.  

This post is about the Varsity team.  And The Coach.

I love The Coach.  More than anything else in this entire world, I love The Coach.  And putting all that aside, he is an absolutely awesome coach.  He takes itty bitty kids, and he turns them into a team.  He turns them into sports loving beasts that work together to accomplish a goal.  He teaches them.  He leads them.  And he does a phenomenal job of it.  He is a born leader.  He comes from humble beginnings, and he knows what it takes to take those beginnings and turn them into something great.

His team this year consisted of 22 boys, only seven of those had ever played before.  And before I go on, this isn't flag football.  This is smash-mouth, bone crunching tackle football.  Practicing five days per week, eating, breathing and sleeping football.  It's all you know from June to November.  It takes over your family, it takes over your life.  It takes over your thoughts, your meal planning, your homework schedule.  It totally runs your family.  So why do parents do it when it sucks the life out of us?

Because it breaths that life back into the boy.  Because the little boy they suit up and toss on the field in June is not the same little boy that comes off the field in November.  Football is discipline, football is heart.  Football is a lot of learning, and it's a sport where one person cannot shine without the help of another.  It's the difference between the first practice where a Mama's baby is puking and crying to the last practice when they are holding hands and helping each other finish.  They aren't crying anymore, and they aren't puking.  They are strong, and they are tough.  

And if The Coach is involved, they LOVE football.  

He is an old school coach.  He hollers, slaps butts and helmets, jumps up and down, throws his clipboard, teeters dangerously on the edge of being tossed from games here and there, and he means business.  He works his kids to death.  The parents fear him at the beginning of the season.  They approach him and tell him he is working them too hard.  

"He can't handle it, Coach.  Look at him, he's crying."

"You are too hard on them Coach."

"Please don't yell at my son like that."

He takes a deep breath, and always tells them:

"Yes he can handle it.  They always cry, and they always puke  Give it a chance.  It will change."

He won't change his business rules.  He won't change the way he coaches.  Because he has been doing this long enough to know what the transformation will be.  He's seen the end result, season after season.  And don't get me wrong, not every kid makes it.  And some of them shouldn't.  Not everybody is cut out for football.  There are one or two every season that just can't get it, and that's ok.  His biggest concern is always the safety of the player.  

There was a young man at the beginning of the season that did not want to play.  He cried like the rest of them.  But as the others stopped crying, he did not.  The Coach tried to talk to his parents, he explained to them that the little boy was going to get hurt, or worse, get someone else hurt.  That he did NOT want to play football.  And of course, the reaction of the parent was that it was the coaches fault.  The Coach was a terrible coach, the boy's father said.  And then, the boy's father proceeded to attempt to fight The Coach.  Yes, fight.  That is the sort of thing that happens when you coach children.  The parent's are difficult to deal with.  But The Coach loves this calling in life, and he keeps it up.  Even after The Coach's wife has to jump in between him and the boy's father to keep the boys father from hitting The Coach.  

Because The Coach's wife knows he does have his limits… 

I have to stay away from the field for the first half of the season.  Being The Coaches wife is a horrible thing.  Parents love to talk smack about any coach, and I don't want to hear it.  Because I already know what the transformation will be.  I have seen it over and over again.  I know they will come around mid-season, and then suddenly it happens… nearly overnight.

And suddenly, The Coach is the best thing that ever happened to their kid.  The same parents that talked all that smack are shaking hands with The Coach and thanking him for what he has done.  

This year, his team exceeded all expectations.  They came out strong in the very first game and beat the reigning champions in overtime.  The team that nobody ever beats.  And that's how he rolls.  No mercy.  And his kids are great sports.  And football is fun.  Hard, but worth it.

And they kept winning.  And winning.  Not easy wins, either.  Three of them were in overtime, and ugly to the end.  

And in the last game, they had something awful happen.  They were beating he heck out of the top team in the league, when disaster struck.  One of their "impact players" broke his arm.  It was an ugly injury, and it took forever to get the little boy stabilized and off the field.  It was very sad.

The tough little team that The Coach created was scared.  They were all crying, they were afraid for their teammate.  They are five, six and seven years old.  And then, they fell apart.  The other team came back and beat them in the very last play of the game.  It was the saddest loss and the hardest loss I've ever seen, and I've seen my fair share.  Those little boys were worried about their teammate, and they never recovered.  I heard a little boy ask one of the assistant coaches whether or not the boy was alive when they carted him off.  

"Is he DEAD?  I don't think he was breathing!"

Of course he was breathing, and most certainly alive.  But in the eyes of a five year old who has grown to love their teammate like a brother, it was very frightening.  

It was a heartbreaking loss.  The Coach was devastated.  He even cried, and I've never seen that before.  He cried for his boys.  And they cried, a lot.

One of the "new Mom's" said in the huddle…

"I can't believe these boys are crying.  They are so sad, this is awful.  Sports isn't supposed to be like this, it should be fun.  Even when they lose, nobody should be crying."  

She didn't say that nicely, by the way.  I had enough.  But as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, another man opened his up and put his arm on my shoulder, as if to silence me.

"This is what football is about.  The best thing you could see in this huddle today is these boys crying.  Not a dry eye in the huddle, and that's the way it's supposed to be.  Losing is NOT fun, nor should it be.  These boys have changed over the season and turned into football players.  They love each other and this is what you WANT to see."

Thanks guy.  I wasn't going to be as diplomatic.  My patience is usually fairly thin by the end of the season.  It's hard to explain, but this is not an "everyone gets a trophy and nobody keeps score" sort of sport.

And I took the sad coach home.  He was terribly sad for most of the day, and even this week is hard for him because the championship game is this Saturday and his boys aren't in it.  His team finished third place in the league, and although that's far better than expected, it wasn't where he wanted to be.

He ended the season choked up in the huddle, telling his boys how much he loved them.  The boys were crying, he was crying, there was a lot of hand shaking and hugging going on.  

I love this sport, and I hate it.  But one thing is for certain… I don't want anybody coaching my boys except The Coach.