Unmotivated...

Do you ever have those days/weeks where you find it difficult to get moving?

I've had this problem for the last couple of weeks now....Hell, I'm struggling to put this blog together as we speak.  (Three sentences down....)

So here is what has been sapping my energy as of late......


Allergies...

There are a lot of things that I love about the fall.  The cooler weather gets me to thinking about a big pot of chili and digging my comfy flannel shirts out of the closet.

What is it about flannel shirts that cause them to just get better with age?  They fade, pick up stains, get holes in them, lose buttons, and eventually, make you look like a slob or a wandering bum.  But, man, when flannel shirts start getting ratty is when they become the most comfy.

With every flannel shirt I've owned, Karla has had to do an intervention.

"Tom, you really need a new flannel shirt."

"But....but why?"

At the mere mention of throwing away a flannel shirt I turn into Linus Van Pelt....."I'm not giving up my blanket (flannel shirt)......

Karla has long since given up trying to get me to throw away a flannel shirt.  I think she's figured out that asking me to dispose of my favorite (their all my favorite) flannel is akin to asking me to sever a limb.

I just go to the closet one day and.....

"HEY, where's my flannel shirt?"

Karla:  "What flannel shirt?"

The conversation dies right there.....I've been married long enough to know when I'm wasting my breath.....Grrrrrr.......

But at least I'm not as bad as my brother Tony is with his hats.  Tony is an Oklahoma and Cubs fan and it is (well, was....) his belief that he should wear his hat until OU wins a national championship and the Cubs wins a world series.

I remember when Karla and I visited him at his college.  Karla told me that she didn't know that OU hats came in brown.  I told her they don't --- the hat was white when Tony bought it.  Karla back pedaled a little.

Years later Oklahoma would win a national championship and Billie, his wife, had a brand new hat that she gave him the very instant time ran off the clock.  The joyous couple celebrated Oklahoma's national championship but, I believe, for two completely different reasons.

And Tony's Cubs hat?  It quite literally rotted off his head.  It was grimy and full of holes, the bill tattered and bent.  But, even the most die hard Cubs fan knows when it's time to call it quits. Sadly, Tony, without that coveted World Series win, disposed of his beloved Cubs hat.

 It was probably for the best. I believe the EPA was getting ready to confiscate the hat anyway.

Wait....I was supposed to be talking about allergies, wasn't I?  My bad -- I will right the ship.

The only gripe I have about the fall is that is when my allergies kick into high gear; and when my allergies kick in to high gear my motivation nose dives.

The lawn has needed mowed for well over a week now but I just can't seem to get myself to do it.  The reason is because I know exactly what's going to happen when I mow.  It'll start with a sneeze, followed by a runny nose, then the eyes will start to itch and, finally, the wheezing of the chest finishes off the whole rotten experience.  Good times.  Good times.

But, in retrospect, I'm thankful that the aforementioned ailments aren't as bad as they used to be.  It only took three years of allergy shots and drugs to transform abject misery into a tolerable inconvenience.

Speaking of drugs......I have to sincerely thank all those meth heads out there who have limited my supply of Allegra D to just one purchase a month.  Karla and I can both buy Allegra D, but with Toby needing allergy meds as well we don't have enough to get us through the month.

I'd gladly knock your rotten teeth out if you had any......Um.....I'm sorry, that was incredibly rude of me.  It's probably the allergy induced headache that's making me surly.

And that's another thing.  I should at least take a couple of shots of whiskey or something to, at least in my warped mind, justify that slightly hung over feeling I get when my head starts to throb.

Anyway, enough bitching......The lawn still isn't mowed and I really need to get it done by this weekend.  Otherwise I will have to get a tractor to swath and bail.

I wonder what the neighbors would think if I mowed the lawn in a hazmat suit?  It would almost be worth not feeling miserable.


It's time to paint....
I used to love painting --- and then I bought my first house.

The first house Karla and I bought was a monster; an old farm house built on a stone foundation and standing two and a half stories tall.  This old house taught me a couple of very important lessons:

  1.  When it comes to old houses, you will spend A LOT of money on upkeep and upgrades and

 2.  If you don't know the difference between a flat head and a Phillips screw driver you shouldn't have been stupid enough to buy it in the first place. (I know the difference now... )

In my defense, I tried like hell to convince Karla that our first home should be a simple little ranch style home.  But Karla would have none of that --- she just had to have the old farm house.  Shortly after we bought the house Karla started making plans for all the "projects" that we, oh handy people that we were, could do together.  You know, those happy projects that make a loving couples relationship even stronger than it was before......(cough, cough)

I told her that I didn't have a clue what I was doing and that we should just save the money and contract it out.  It was then that I heard that God awful phrase for the first time.

Karla: "How bad could it possibly be?"

To this day that simple phrase makes me cringe.  "How bad it could possibly be?", uttered several times by my lovely wife, is usually followed up by someone else stepping in to fix the mess we (I) made.

No one had to step in when I painted the house --- but I sure as hell wish someone would have.

Karla, two months into the project became pregnant with our first child and so got a pass on painting the beast after my dad caught her on top of the scaffolding scraping paint off of the second story and had a heart attack. (No, not literally)

  Still I, myself, was actually feeling fairly optimistic about the project.  At that time I liked to paint and was looking forward to a project that didn't involve a butt load of power tools that I had no clue how to operate.  Take it easy dear, I got this.

Then.....she asked.  "How bad could it possibly be?"

Well, let me tell you......

The project started in April.  That year we got a lot of rain and I never got to spend a whole lot of time painting. (Neither did Karla, as she was pregnant by the time summer hit.)  The rains were followed by high humidity which then took the first coat of paint forever to dry.  Actually, back up a second.....

The original color of the house was, I kid you not, Smurf blue.  My only thought was that I sincerely hoped that the previous owners were color blind.  Karla and I chose a very pleasant shade of yellow for the house ----- and even with primer it took a few m@&%@# f$%@#*' coats of paint to get that hideous blue color to quit bleeding through.

And, no, I couldn't scrape a vast majority of the house because of the asbestos tile siding.....I had to paint over  the previous color. Again, and again, and again.........

I began to hate Smurfs.......

The humidity gave way to an intense heat wave, which was good in regards to paint drying, bad if you have to spend hours under the sun while standing on metal scaffolding.

By this time I started using up my vacation trying to finish the house.  One man, one house, one big smoking pile of bullshit........

The heat wave was then followed by an early fall and rain, rain, rain.

Thanks to mother nature, Smurf blood, and a large house it took me nearly four and a half months to finish my do it yourself project.

Technically, I didn't finish.  There was a small strip on the back side of the house that required me to put up at least three layers of scaffolding to reach.

Karla look at it and said, "Wait, you missed a spot."

I wonder if she felt my stare burning a hole through her forehead.  But, I didn't blow up. No, I didn't not want to upset the expectant mother of my first child.  I simply said, "Shit on it....I'm done."

I went into the house, grabbed a beer and went on with my life.


So, years later and with a different house, it is once again time to paint.  I really shouldn't complain because it's only trim but, man, after such a miserable experience I really have no desire to grab a paint brush.

I know what's going to happen.  We have three consecutive weekends of softball tournaments and then I will find myself trying to get the painting finished up before it starts getting too cold.

No. Actually, I need to start painting during the week......As soon as I finish mowing the lawn.

Just not today.......Maybe I'll find my motivation tomorrow.

But for now my head is throbbing.  I believe it's time to take a nap.....

Things I've learned as a coach...

I've been coaching for almost ten years now; that just doesn't seem possible.  Has it really been that long?

That old adage "Time flies when you're having fun" definitely applies to my time as a coach.

Along the way I have learned a lot about kids, parents and, most importantly, myself.  It hasn't always been a smooth ride, but I can honestly say that my regrets up to this point are few.  With only a couple of changes I would gladly do it over again.

Kinda makes me wish I had four or five kids instead of stopping at two.

But anyway, on with what I have learned.

Girls are easier to coach than boys....
It's just my opinion but I firmly believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that girls are much, much easier to deal with than boys --- or maybe I've just been lucky all these years.

Compared to boys, girls pay attention, listen better and talk back a whole lot less.  I have found it a lot easier to get girls to be goal oriented and to pay attention to detail.  Boys?

"Stay out of the water cooler....."

"Get out of the dirt....."

"PAY ATTENTION..."


When it comes to boys and talking back, the one phrase I have absolutely grown to despise is "Well, my dad said....."

Hey....Is your dad coaching this team?  NO?  I didn't think so....You do it my way. Grrr.....



If/when you have to chew on a girl there is a high probability that she'll be upset with you but will still bust her ass and do what she's told.  It amazes me at times how a girl can be mad or crying and still be focused on the task at hand.

With boys, there's a 50/50 chance that he's going to try blow you off and then continue to do things his way.  Over the the years I can say with supreme confidence that the number of ass chewings at a boys practice/games has far exceeded that of girls.  Boys can be really stubborn.

So if I had to choose between coaching boys baseball and girls softball I will take the girls.  (Actually, if I could get away with it, I 'd coach both)


You can lead a horse to water....
Every coach that has coached in the rec leagues has dealt with it -- having that one kid on the team that just.....doesn't.....want.....to be......there.....

This is the kid who has no real interest in playing; he/she is only there because his parents made him/her go out.  (No, the glove goes on the other hand....)

Now I don't fault the parents' logic at all.  There are parents who want their kids to at least try different things and there are those parents who are kicking their kids out of the house just to keep them away from the video game console for at least a few hours a day.  I get it and I'm totally ok with it.

The problem is that a kid who doesn't want to play can be a major distraction to the kids who do.

If this kid is playing in the dirt, then chances are good that the two kids next to him are also playing in the dirt.  If he is horsing around in the dugout and playing with the water cooler, then there is a good chance that a water fight will break out.

If this kid starts climbing the fence.....

If this kid starts singing and dancing....

If this kid tries to bring food into the dugout.....

If this kid wanders out of the dugout in the middle of a game to go to the bathroom.....

It's very tiresome dealing with the kid who doesn't want to be there.  You spend a good portion of your practice trying to keep him/her under control so that you can at least hope to accomplish half the things that you had on your agenda for that day.

And if he happens to have a buddy that he can bond with.........Shit.....

I used to get so frustrated that I just barely manage to be understanding of this kid's plight.  Every time I'm on the verge of blowing a gasket, I think of how I would act if I had to be somewhere that I didn't want to be --- which would be just about every kind of non-family social gathering that I can think of.

Sigh.....I understand kid.....you're driving me nuts, but I understand.

Eventually you have to play the kid who doesn't want to be there; which usually leads to cursing and drinking copious amounts of alcohol afterwards.

And why is it that it never fails?  ---- The one position you put this kid in is exactly where the other team starts hitting the ball.

One of two things usually happen when a ball is hit to the kid who doesn't want to play.  He either misses it entirely and then stands there watching the ball roll away assuming that someone else will get it or; two, he will catch the ball and hold it because he didn't pay enough attention in practice to know what to do.

"Throw it......THROW IT!!!!!   OH MY GOD, PEEL IT AND EAT IT!!!!  DO SOMETHING!!!

Ugh....excuse me....I'm going to get antacid....

But I have to admit that I did get a good laugh out of one of these kids.  (yes, I've had more than one in my time as coach)

In a coach pitch game, a young boy stepped into the batter's box.  Mom signed him up for dance, which he liked.  Dad signed him up for baseball -- not so much.  But he was a really good kid despite the fact that he nearly gave me a coronary.

"Are you ready?"  I asked

The boy nodded that he was ready to hit.....I didn't really believe him but I went ahead and threw the ball anyway.

The boy took a mighty cut.....missed.....and then did a pirouette in the batters box.

Did I really just see that?

Had I thought of it sooner I would have tried to locate his dad in the stands.  I bet the look on his face was priceless.


Communication, communication, communication.....
It's very important that you make sure that your kids understand the baseball terminology that you will be using both in practice and in games.

For instance, with very young players, you must make sure that they understand that there is no fourth base.

When a smiling, laughing youngster is running towards third, oversized helmet making him look like a bobble head,  and you yell while jumping up and down "GO HOME" --- that poor, uninformed kid may take you quite literally.

Believe me, nothing can take the wind out of your sails faster than seeing a kid go from laughing to crying in two seconds.  The distraught kid ran past the coach, out of the dugout, and into his dad's arms.

"Son, what's wrong?"

"SHE TOLD ME TO GO HOME.....WWWAAAAAAHHH!"

Thank God that didn't happen to me.  I just happened to be watching the game when the incident occurred.


Respect....
On a more serious note...

I don't yell....period.  I may get very stern at times, I may raise my voice, I may holler when a player out in the field or on the base paths can't hear me.......... but I NEVER yell.

I used to love basketball.  So much so that for an entire summer, I shot baskets at least three hours a day, every day.  I remember my grandparents driving up to the school late at night to tell me it was time to go home.  I ate, drank, and slept basketball.

I was a small kid, so the lack of muscle meant that I wasn't very accurate from three, but anything inside the arc I could bury with frightening consistency......

But no one got to see it in a game because I was afraid to shoot.

My coach at that time was someone I like to refer to as a Bobby Knight disciple; a yeller and a screamer.  I went from eighth grade up to half way into my junior year taking one ass chewing after another.  I'd been kicked out of practice and nearly quit my sophomore year.

But when I got pinned up against a wall with his red face inches away from mine......That was it.

My overall basketball experience was so negative that I not only quit playing basketball, I quit playing baseball too.  I had no desire to put on a uniform, any uniform, ever again.  It took Toby at four years old buying his own batting helmet and telling me he wanted to play to get me back into taking an active role in the game.  I still enjoyed watching baseball -- especially my beloved Cubs -- but before Toby I had no desire to be anything more than a spectator.

And basketball?  I don't watch it.....I don't want to watch it.  Up until now I have never really said anything about how I truly feel about basketball.  Being in the middle of Jayhawk country and saying that you don't watch basketball is considered blasphemy.

But....it's out in the open now.....No going back.

I did try getting back on the horse a couple of years after I got out of high school....But it wasn't the same.  I just didn't love the game anymore.

In retrospect, I'm not about to pin all the blame on my coach and absolve myself of any wrong doing.  I was lazy and could have worked harder.  I could have played smarter.  I could have been tougher.

But....I wasn't.

It took several years before I really learned the lesson that having a hot headed coach taught me.  That lesson is that there is really no need to act that way.  Would you scream like that at a co-worker? Would you pin your co-worker up against a wall while your chewing on them? Is that behavior acceptable in the work place? In school? In public?

No.....It isn't.  Then why is it acceptable in sports?

The one thing I consistently preach to my players is that as long as you give me your best effort and best attitude then you will NEVER have to worry about mistakes.  Mistakes are just part of the game and you should never play being afraid to make one.

Effort and Attitude...Give me the best of both and all is right with the world.

More than anything I want those that play for me to give everything they have because they love playing for me --- not because they fear me.

I don't like what happened to me.....But I think, in the end, it has made me a better coach.  And for that, I am thankful.


What just happened????
I never played football as a kid.  My mom flat out told me that she was not going to take care of me when I broke my neck.....So there you have it.

When I was asked to help coach Toby's football team I accepted because I honestly thought I would just be a glorified water boy.  Grab the cones, hold the blocking dummy, hike the ball for the quarterback --- you know, peon stuff.

Then I was told that I had cornerbacks and receivers.  Uh, what?

The best way that I can describe the word "Panic" is being a football neophyte who is staying up late at night pouring over youtube videos and trying to figure out just what in the hell he's going to do for his individual session of practice.

More than once during the course of that first year one of my players would ask why and I would respond, "Shit, I don't know."

I felt as if I was walking blindfolded through a mine field and after that first year I just knew that I would be replaced by someone who actually knew what in the hell he was doing.

But that day didn't come the next year, or the next, or the next after that.  I continued to learn, albeit very slowly.  I became more aware of the chess match that is football.  I began to enjoy it a lot more.

Granted, there were still times when one of the other coaches would be talking tactics and I would be thinking to myself "Is that Greek?"  "What is he saying?"  "Can he see the blank look on my face?"

But now, as Toby plays for his high school team I suddenly find myself watching individuals players, taking note of their foot work, how well they see the field, their pursuit angles, their discipline.  Six years later the game looks very different to me....It's not just twenty two bodies crashing into each other, it actually makes sense now.  I'm still lost trying to keep track of what's going on in the trenches, but the other positions I keep up with really well.

In the end, I'm still not a very good football coach, but I am a much more knowledgable fan.  And that makes all those years of walking the sidelines worth it.  It also helps that you become good friends with the other coaches.  I will always cherish the time I got to walk the sidelines with them.



So with Toby in high school and Tera getting older, I know that I don't have that many years of coaching left.  But it's been a great run up to this point, and I hope to keep learning as long as I'm still in the game.

And when I finally hang it up, if the rest of my coaching days are comparable to days past, then I will walk away satisfied.

But until then......LET'S PLAY BALL!!!!

I want you to be better than me.....

I have told both of my kids on numerous occasions that my goal as a parent is too raise them to be a better person than I am.

 I'm not worried about whether or not they have a high paying profession or the perfect spouse.  I worry even less about what material things they will own.

No.....When I tell my kids that I want them to grow up being a better person than I am, that has nothing to do with professional or financial success.  I'm focused more on the WHO they become not WHAT they become.

I worry about whether or not they will be happy.  I worry about whether they grow up appreciating what life is really about......If they learn anything from me -- I want them to learn two things.


HUMILITY ---- IT'S NOT ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVE......

Before the Dave Ramsey revolution I correlated happiness with material possessions.  Given our lifestyle as Americans that last little statement shouldn't surprise anyone.

It's borderline insane when you think about how the list of wants in our society has somehow morphed into needs.  Gotta have that big house -- gotta have that new car -- gotta have dish network and a television in at least four rooms --- got have the best cell phone --- gotta have internet.  (ok, yeah, I GOTTA have internet -- we all have our vices.)

Our society, generally speaking of course, has become so obsessed with having the biggest and the best the we have really forgotten that the best things in life are the simplest. As a society we have also successfully turned everything we do into an almost cut throat competition.

The United States once had it's arms race with Russia, in comparison American society had, and is still having, it's "keeping up with the Jones's" race.  This race, thanks to shameless advertising, has gotten an almost lethal adrenaline injection as the brain washed masses compete for the nicest material possessions, massive amounts of debt be damned.

I remember as a kid my dad once told me to never get a credit card.  "It's a rip off, son, stay away from it."  (I don't know if he has one now.....Not going to ask)

I remember my dad saved for years ----YEARS ---- to buy his beloved '85 Jeep Cherokee.

That mindset of scrimping and pinching has long since given way to a society that feels that it is in dire need of instant gratification.  

When, in reality, what society really needs is to check itself into retail detox......

The lifestyle that Karla and I choose to live is one that we hope makes a lasting impression on our children. The lesson is that simple and debt free is good.

When once owned an old two and a half story farm house, stone foundation, wood floors, about twenty four hundred square feet. The kind of home that, if fixed up right, could end up in a better homes and gardens magazine.  It took us a while to figure out that it was way more house than we really needed.

When we downsized we bought a berm home that had barely nine hundred square feet.  In fact, the purchase went something like this:  We walked in and are immediately back handed by the over powering stench of cat urine. We find a broken window in one bedroom with a blanket stuffed in it. (We would later find termites as well)

The place was like a dark, smelly cave --- and I'm not so sure that I didn't back pedal a few steps after I first walked in the door.

But, the house was in a small town, in a quiet neighborhood, with a small school that had a good reputation.  That trumped the condition of the house.

"Wow, what a shit hole," I said,  "We'll take it."

We aren't anywhere close to being done with our renovations but we have fixed it up quite a bit since that first day we moved in.  I'm quite certain there were family members that thought we had gotten ourselves into trouble financially, but we didn't ---- this was a calculated move to assure that our financial instability would never happen.

Plus, I liked the small size --- easy to maintain.  The money we dumped into our old house was outrageous.  So much so that when we bought the house for 97,000 and then sold it for 148,000 we actually broke even.  A young couple walked away learning a valuable lesson about old houses.  I will never own a big old house ever again.

Anyway, our current house fit's the lifestyle that I hope my kids adopt.  Simple....simple...simple.

We don't have cable; logic being that we won't want anything if we don't know it exists, and not one piece of furniture inside our house has ever been bought new.  A lot of our home improvement projects were done on the cheap or, if we got lucky -- like the patio for instance --- for free.

It is not a beautiful house by any stretch of the imagination.  But the roof keeps the rain out, the kitchen has food, there's a place to sleep, and a place to take a bath.  That's good enough.

(Well, I kind of wish the bathroom had a fart fan......Burning candles doesn't mask shit....literally)

Now if Toby and Tera go out on their own and end up buying a huge mansion and have two brand new vehicles sitting in their driveway I'm fine with that --- if that's what truly makes them happy.

I just want them to grow up knowing that they have the option of living simple....That they don't have to keep up with the Jones's if they don't want to.


COMPASSION ---  HELP OUT WHEN YOU CAN.....

I used to donate to the Red Cross.  I used to give to the Salvation Army.  I used to adopt a child for Christmas........And I used to feel really good every time I did it.

Shortly after children I stopped -- and I can't explain why.

Why would I stop giving?  Why would I stop helping?  Especially when it made me feel good?

Because life with kids gets expensive.....It's not a very good excuse, but it's all that I have.

I have not been good about teaching my kids about helping those who have less.  I have failed to teach them to look beyond their own needs and to look after the needs others.

I have, quite simply, neglected to teach compassion on a consistent basis.

That.....Ends.....Now......

I want my kids to understand that the best way to show thanks for having a good life is to do their part to help those in need.

This year, we will adopt a family, or perhaps each kid will adopt a child.

I remember the first time I adopted a child -- a pregnant teenager.  Her list contained kid things like glow pens and nail polish.  Here was a child getting ready to have a child, a young girl who probably had no idea how much tougher her life was about to get.  It kinda tore me up.

I did what I could to get everything on her list.  I knew, in the big picture, that my contribution wouldn't really amount to squat.  But if I could at least give her a decent Christmas then, at least for one day, all would be right with the world.

Once again, why have I stopped helping?

I believe that there are a few charity 5K's that Tera and I can run -- we can do that too.

These two things will be a good way to get my kids started in what I hope will turn out to be a life long endeavor.

Eventually, I would like to have the kids come face to face with the people that they are helping.  An example of that would be to work in a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving day --- but I'm not sure I will do that this year.

My family stopped celebrating Thanksgiving years ago, and so, helping serve meals to the homeless wouldn't be a big deal.  But Karla's family does celebrate Thanksgiving, and I don't want to do anything to disrupt that.  After all, it is all about family, and that's a good thing.

But I'm sure there will be other opportunities to help out....I will just have to keep my eyes open.


Only time will tell how my kids will choose to live their lives.  If their take on the world ends up being different than mine it won't mean that I failed as a parent ---- people have to live their lives how they see fit --- it just means that my kids felt that they have found a better way to navigate through this mess that is the world today.

I can at least take solace in knowing that I tried  ---- and as long as they're happy, I'm happy......

Coaching withdrawal.....

Toby has his first football game as a high school freshman next Monday and, even though it's going to take me some time to adjust, I can't wait.....

Sort of.

This year I will not coach Toby in any sport --- None....At....All...

This year, his freshman year in high school, will be the first time since kindergarten that I will not be involved as a coach in any of Toby's athletic endeavors; and I can already feel the withdrawals.

It feels -- strange. Not scary, just.....strange.

Perhaps it's the same sensation I got when Karla threw away my favorite flannel shirt because it was "grody".  Whatever, it was broke in.

I guess coaching Toby and my old flannel shirt are the same in that, yes, all good things must come to an end.  It's not the end of the world and it's not like I can't keep coaching/get another flannel shirt.

But it just won't be the same....I love coaching my son....and I loved that flannel shirt ---- DAMMIT!!!

Why in the hell did you have to throw that away?  I know it was once green.....It's not grody, it's faded for Pete's sake.....Aaahhhh!!!

 Ok...letting go......letting go.....

Anyway.....


 No more coaching football and, in the spring, no baseball.  I'm just not sure how I'm going to handle this.  I've always been able to walk the sidelines (Toby played arena football in Jr. High, outside of school) or pace around in the dug out.  The bleachers, despite the fact that I have sat in them from time to time, are a foreign place to me.

I wonder if I will be able to just sit back and enjoy the game?  I certainly hope so.  The one thing I do not want to be is THAT parent that thinks he knows a better way to run a team.  That parent that thinks this kid should be playing this position and that this scheme is a crock of shit.....Blah, blah, blah.

I've been coaching long enough to know just how thankless a job it can be.  When you win you're great....Lose and you're an idiot.  So I will make a concentrated effort to be what I am supposed to be -- a fan.

Coaches coach, players play, refs --- well, they try (LOL), and parents cheer.  At least that's how it's supposed to be.  Rarely does it ever work out that way.

It just doesn't matter what a coach does, there are those fans/parents that will just never be happy.  The grass is always greener........

Having said that, in my own personal experience I have found that a majority of the criticism over the years has come from a minority of parents.  I have been very blessed to have been able to be around a really solid group of level headed parents in all the sports that both of my children have participated in.

Also,  I have had parents that have taken their kids to other teams but were very gracious about it.  I have no problem with a parent moving their child because they feel like the coaching staff's philosophy of the game doesn't fit their own.  As long as we can part amicably then all is right with the world.

This by no means indicates that I am sympathetically exonerating all coaches for their actions....They are human, they make mistakes....Lord knows I have made more than my fair share of mistakes.

But if I ever have a problem with a coach you can take it to the bank that you will NEVER see me confront one in public; and I will NEVER contact that coach until after I have emerged from my self imposed twenty four hour rule.

I firmly believe in the twenty four hour rule.  Simply stated, if you see something that upsets you then you need to go home and sit on it for twenty four hours.  Usually during that time,  logic and a well prepared case that you can POLITELY present to the coach emerges.  There's no yelling, no flying off the handle, no accusations or name calling that you will surely regret later.

Plus....I don't ever recall an instance where a parent berating a coach, especially in public, has ever earned his or her child more playing time.

Anyway, it's a good rule of thumb to live by.  The tongue is the sharpest weapon that you will ever possess.  Make sure that when you cut some one down with it that they actually deserved it.



So far I have found a couple of things to help me deal with my coaching withdrawal.  One is an awesome website that gives me access (once Toby logs me on, of course) to all of Toby's teams game film.

The first time Toby logged on it felt as if I had won the lottery.  It was Christmas in August, it was a childish euphoria that had me so giddy I nearly wet myself. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!!!

I have never had the opportunity to just sit on the couch and break down film.  Play, stop, rewind, slow motion ---- draw up the play the way all the NFL analysts do during games.  My God, where has this truly amazing creature been all my life?  Add a six pack of beer and nachos and my life is complete.  :)

I can already tell that every Saturday morning until football season is over,  Karla is going to have to come by, shut down the site, and force the honey do list into my hands.

C'mon honey.....The trim doesn't need to be painted THAT bad.....

No....I haven't showered yet.  I meant to and then there was this play that I wanted to look at.....

Kids?  What kids?  Where was I supposed to take them?


The other thing that is helping me through this mess is that I can still coach Tera; and she is getting to that age where it's really starting to become fun.

At nine years of age it's safe to say that Tera knows just as much about softball than I ever did about baseball as a high school player.  Competitive sports, with more games and practices, has done a lot in regards to accelerating what kids can learn.  I'm willing to bet that Tera played more games last year then I did in three when I was around her age.

I still worry about the commitment and the possibility of burn out but, for now, Tera has bought into it.  So much so that she has already quit playing other sports.  She gave up basketball this year and wants to spend her time shagging flies in the outfield --- and her old man couldn't be happier.

We did agree that she still needs other things to do.  So we signed her up for Girls On The Run --- (Can't say enough good things about GOTR -- every school should have it) and we are looking to get her into something non sports related.  We have 4-H and there could possibly be a guitar in her future.

Okay....Veering off course here.  Allow me to right the ship.

Still having Tera around to coach has definitely made becoming Toby's biggest fan a little easier for me to deal with. However, I have no idea what I'm going to do when I'm done coaching Tera.  I fear that day...I REALLY fear that day.

I guess I could buy a metal detector, Birkenstocks, and knee high black socks.

"Hey, look what I found!!!"

Ugh.....

I've put so much time into my kids that I have given up a lot of my own hobbies along the way.  I don't fish or hunt anymore.  (Not a big deal....I suck at both)  I haven't been on my bicycle in years (I'm sure the tires are flat, chain dry) and I haven't been hiking since before Toby was born.

But honestly, while those are fun activities, it doesn't hold a candle to coaching my kids......Man, I am going to miss coaching Toby.....But, life goes on, right?

I may have to take a couple of shots of whiskey before the first few games that Toby plays just to calm my nerves.....Otherwise, I may end up being that guy that's sitting by himself in the stands because he is rocking back and forth and talking to himself........Who knows, perhaps I'm doing that already......

"Hello, my name is Tom."

"Hi, Tom"

"Ugh, thanks.  Anyway, my name is Tom, and I haven't coached my son in six weeks.  I'm really struggling with it --- I can't get the voices out of my head.  Just go down there Tom......Tell him what he's doing wrong Tom.....The other coaches won't notice that you have stolen a pair of head sets......Just act like you're one of  them and maybe they won't notice......"

I'll get through this.....I will.....But this may not be graceful.....


I wonder what Karla thinks about adoption?