Put me in, coach!

When I was a kid growing up in Syracuse, New York, I remember summer days playing pick-up baseball games in someone’s back yard. I remember hooking my glove over the handlebar of my bike and riding with a group of friends to play ball. It might be four-on-four, or if we didn’t have enough to play teams we’d play a game called ‘500’, with one batter and several fielders.

We also played organized little league baseball. After the first year, my dad was the coach of my baseball team.

In the winter, which is very cold and snowy in upstate New York, I played youth league hockey. Again, after my first year, my dad was the coach.

When we talk about those days now, my dad and I, he says he remembers them as some of the best time of his life. He talks about some of the baseball and hockey moments we shared, some of which I don’t remember, some that I do. The memories I have are special – more special, I think, because I shared them with him.

My dad played a bit of baseball in his youth. He never played hockey. But he is, and pretty much always has been, a leader, a take-charge kind of guy. Once he saw what the coaches were doing for my baseball and hockey teams, he decided he could do that too. Probably better. And from what I remember, he did a good job and enjoyed it as well.

I’m far away from central New York now, out here in the Rocky Mountains.

I bring up this whole youth sports thing because where we live now, I rarely see a group of kids playing baseball, on their own, in a park or backyard. And while there is a little league or city rec league for baseball, I don’t know anyone who plays it.

The summer youth sport where we live now is soccer. And from the time Chris could first articulate his wants, he said he wanted to be on a soccer team.

This past summer was the first time he was old enough to play in the county rec youth soccer league. We signed him up for the Spring season pre-K league, for kids age 5 and 6. He was so excited to finally get to play soccer. His team wore blue shirts, and they named the team the Blue Bullets. He was on a team with two of his buddies from our neighborhood, and though they lost every game, he had a blast.

At that level most of the kids really don’t get the winning and losing thing. In the first few games they cheered every time a goal was scored, even goals scored against them. The point of the game at this level is to introduce kids to the idea of organized sport, basic rules, team play and sportsmanship.

As it happened, Chris was one of the better players on his team. He scored the first goal of the season, and if anyone had kept records he would have been one of the top two or three scorers on the team of eight kids. Unlike Tommy, Chris is tall for his age, taller than many of his peers. He’s got very good motor skills and coordination, so he was able to do well at this level. He was a bit tentative in mixing it up, but at this level it’s not that big a deal. They had fun. That’s what counts.

So when the fall league signups rolled around, Chris asked if he could play again. We signed him up. When his registration form came back, the sheet said his team did not have a coach.

I mentioned the story about my dad coaching my hockey team after watching for a year because I don’t think he really knew the game when I started to play. He never played it as a kid. We sort of learned it together. But after watching the other coaches and learning the game, he knew it well enough to coach a group of six year old kids. And he coached my team every year for the next six, until we moved away, to a city in the south that did not have a youth hockey program

Though I never played soccer, after watching Chris’s first season, I figured I knew enough to coach five and six year old kids in that sport. So when I saw the registration form come back and his team had no coach, I figured I’d give it a try. I called up the county and offered to coach the team. They said they would get back to me. Unfortunately, when they did I was told a coach had already been found.

But by the time that call came I had gotten pretty excited about being the coach, and was disappointed that I wouldn't be able to do it. So I did the next best thing. I offered to help the coach during the practices. I use the term practice loosely – 5 and 6 year old kids have short attention spans, and there was little instruction or strategy imparted during the hour or so we would practice. Still, it was fun to help, and I learned a bit about how to interact with the kids and help them enjoy the game.

One day after a practice toward the end of the season the coach came to me and asked if I could coach the team in the next game. He was going to be out of town. I said I’d be happy to do it.

I spent the rest of the week plotting my game strategy, figuring out my line-up combinations, running through the various scenarios I expected to encounter. If I could have scouted the other team, I would have. Instead of my usual daydreams of winning the lottery or piles of fresh, warm chocolate chip cookies, I dreamed of the perfect goal kick, the give and go off the throw-in pass, and the thrill of being on the field when Chris scored a goal.

Okay, I was a bit into it.

I called my dad and told him I’d be coaching Chris’s next game. He’s been able to get to most of Chris’s games this year, and he said he’d be sure to come out to watch this one.

This season, the fall season, Chris’s team wore orange jerseys. The name they chose for themselves was the Orange Tanks. And on this crisp fall afternoon, in the bright sunshine amidst the falling orange leaves, I would be a Tank Commander.



The team took the field, I shook hands with the opposing coach, and the game was on. At this level the coaches are actually on the field with the players, not on the sideline. The kids have a hard enough time remembering which goal they are shooting at, and need constant direction from the coaches or the game will disintegrate into randomness. The coaches are also the referees, determining who last touched the ball out of bounds and setting up the inbounds plays.

It was exhilarating.

I ran up and down the field with my team, encouraging, instructing and cheerleading. It was a wild game, lots of goals, lots of action. It went by much too quickly. Although no official score is kept at this level of play, by my unofficial tally the Orange Tanks came out on top of the Dark Knights by something like 11-8 or 12-9. Chris had three goals.

After the game I stood on the field with my dad and son. Three Generations of male Mann’s. The testosterone level was spectacular.

My dad told Chris how well he had played. Chris was beaming – he loves it when ‘Papa’ comes to see him.

He turned to me, said, “You coached a good game, Fam.”

“Dad, there’s not a whole lot of coaching at this level,” I said.

He smiled. “There’s more than you think. You’re helping the kids learn the game, how to play a team sport, understand rules. You’re showing them you care. Your enthusiasm and effort give them self esteem, help them learn and grow. Don’t sell your efforts short.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Did you have fun?” he asked.

Now it was my turn to smile. “It was great.”

He looked me in the eye. He smiled a wistful smile. I could swear his eyes were a bit moist as he said, “I know how you feel, son." A pause. "I know how you feel.”

Chris said, “Dad, will you be the coach next week?”

“No, Chris, Coach Tim will be back for the game next week.”

He looked disappointed.

“But next year, Chris, I’ll be your coach.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I said.

He smiled. “That will be great!”

I looked at my dad. He smiled, too.

Like father, like son.

I wonder if I’ll look back on that day, and the seasons to follow, as the best years of my life, as my dad had said those years were for him.

I can’t wait to find out.

It’s great to be The Family Man.