There’s something interesting and oddly noticeable about a group of men, who I have the privilege of being associated throughout my entire life. When one of us makes a mistake or are faced with a sudden and unpleasant event, we will clinch or teeth and through them say with a sneer, “Shit!” A close friend of mine who is not from my area noticed this and asked me why, saying, “I’ve seen you do it on several occasions and now I just noticed your friend do the exact same thing, almost like you were coached.” In fact, we were.
Over the past few days, as the college football world mourned the passing of one of it’s most successful coaches, my heart has gone out to his players. Make no mistake; a significant part of them has been lost.
For anyone who has not played sports, it’s very difficult to fully appreciate the player-coach relationship. I am very lucky to have been a part of such a society, made with such skill, dedication, and over such a period of time that I am branded forever. My golf buddies, including one who is a well respected coach in his own right, have noticed the brand and commented on it also. Anytime a former Lumberjack miss hits a ball, he will almost assuredly show his lineage. Countless times a day, from August to November, we heard the sneer, “Shit!” and responded with the determination of a salmon struggling to reach far upstream against strong currents. It doesn’t seem like the most socially acceptable expression of distain for a mistake, but it is nearly unstoppable.
Our mold was cast from a mortar of mud, blood, and sweat, and cured over years on a field tucked between hills and a railroad track up a hollow of a small Appalachian town. We were shaped of our own free will and love of the game of football, and have ended up as family with bonds standing through all other influences our entire lives. These bonds grew stronger through generations, and were created through an entire gamut, respect, fear, sometimes loathing but never hating, and love for Coach West. These days we see him from time to time, now retired, and will address him as “Tom”, but make no mistake, the respect has only grown, fostered by those who have carried on the tradition after us. We still listen attentively, appreciate immensely, and then wear it with pride.
I see my former teammates frequently; some almost daily at this point in my life. It is interesting that no mater our past differences, our other life history, or political or religious affiliation which is almost meaningless in comparison, we are brothers and treat each other as such. We hold the same ties also with those who played years before us and after us. For those of us lucky enough to have played for a great coach, you will never hear, “Did you play also? What year?” because we know. It does not mater if we were a bench warmer or all-state, we all share it equally and all carry the same extent of pride. Several years ago we stood on the field before our coach’s last game and hoisted him on our shoulders as cameras flashed and fans openly wept and cheered in recognition of his career. This football field of a single A school with a typical population of well under 300 students over the years was nearly shoulder to shoulder from end zone to end zone with former players, some with plane tickets in their pockets.
It’s almost impossible to explain the effect, but you can see proof by testing the armor of most high school or college football players who have played under the tutelage a successful coach. After a loss, throw a seemingly justified criticism of their coach at them. You will rarely get an agreement, but instead will hear back, “We didn’t execute”. There is always an assumption of responsibility by the played in defense of the coach, no mater how understandable. I cannot think of a more admirable, yet seldom seen trait, in any person than that of assuming responsibility for one’s own actions. That might be the greatest gift a coach gives to his players. What a different world we would live in if each person were accountable for their actions!
