Tucked away in a closet corner is an old basketball trophy.  The relic is showing its age and maybe best kept hidden from family and company.

But this trophy is a source of pleasure for me.  It represents a ninth grade Minneapolis Park Board basketball championship and a team called the Ramsey All-Stars that played their games back in 1971.

I coached that team and two others during some wonderful basketball winters in the 1970s.  The memories started flashing back a few days ago after reading Phil Taylor’s column in the January 9 issue of Sports Illustrated.  He revealed his story of coaching a boys’ junior varsity basketball team at a charter school in California.  The column was prompted by how the allegations of sexual abuse against boys by coaches Jerry Sandusky and Bernie Fine have changed the way Taylor relates to his players.

Because of the national publicity about Sandusky and Fine, Taylor no longer offers his players rides home after practice.  He avoids being in the locker room when young men are changing clothes.  Even when they come out of the game, Taylor gives pause about how to appropriately touch a player.

How fortunate I was to coach in a different time.  I was only old enough to be a big brother to my players and I loved the interaction with them.  Frequently I provided rides to and from practices.  Why wouldn’t I during frigid, snowy Minnesota winters? The only downside to the chauffeuring was when a player announced his presence with a fart.

I had coaching ambitions back then and thought I might eventually pursue a high school or college position.  I was almost always demanding of my players.  At the first practice of the year with the All-Stars I remember not only talking about who was boss, but also lecturing them that ethnicity made no difference to me—they would all be treated fairly and the best kids would be starters.

I only remember once being physical with a youngster who played for one of my seventh or eighth grade teams.  He was a passive player who I needed more from and one day in practice I shook his arm.  He knew I was mad and he burst out crying.  He quit the team but later I talked to both him and his mom and he returned.

In today’s world it’s a “duh” that parents can cause a lot of problems for youth coaches, but decades ago I rarely had an adult attend practice.  I had one kid whose dad played for the Lakers and another youngster whose father was a great high school coach.  Never heard a word from those parents nor just about any other.

But to show you how different parents can be about their basketball knowledge I will share a story that happened in the 1980s while coaching in Edina.  This lady dropped her son off at the first practice, and promptly offered me a cash tip.  Maybe as an unpaid volunteer I should have accepted the money.  She just didn’t know you don’t tip coaches like taxi drivers.

I pushed my players through two hour practices multiple times per week.  We practiced plays, scrimmaged and worked on conditioning.  I tried to get the kids ready for all kinds of things other teams might throw our way, and I know now more than ever that it was really a lot of effort for these youngsters.

We almost always practiced in a church gym, sometimes when it wasn’t even basketball season.  God bless the minister for making that basement gym available to us almost any time — week day or weekend.  The minister and I became friends.  I would often see him looking down on us from an inside window one floor above the gym.  He was giving his sign of approval, and later he sent his son to me for private basketball lessons.

The All-Stars and the two other Minneapolis Park Board teams I coached lost a total of one game in three years.  The winning was sweet but so too were the relationships.  I often scrimmaged against those kids trying to make them better and later when they were in high school we would still get together and play basketball.  Some would say they wished I was their coach.

More than 10 years after these kids played for me one of them showed up at a game in Edina where I was coaching my oldest son.  About that time we also got together for lunch.  His reaching out was a special compliment.

I wasn’t a perfect coach.  I realize looking back that I could have been better at expanding my basketball knowledge.  I know, too, that with all the one-sided games we won I certainly could have provided more playing time for the reserves—and the deep reserves—than I did.

But, boy, it was fun.  Winning helps a lot but it was more than that.  I had a few kids that were not just basketball challenged, they lacked athleticism.  I let it be known I was available to work with them in small groups, or individually — or even in the summer time.  To see a couple of those kids become better players and enjoy our time together was special.

The socialization could even spill over to my bachelor apartment complex where an afternoon of food, swimming and other fun became a special season ending celebration.  I think there was even some game film shown on the home screen.

For years now I’ve thought about coaching again.  I know it wouldn’t be the same experience, but perhaps it could still be special.

 

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