Goodbye, Coach

I walked through the door this evening absolutely exhausted, completely wore out after a week where my 7th grade football team lost their first game of the season and after I spent Tuesday night at the hospital with a running back with a bruised pancreas. I could barely find the strength to get in to work this morning, and, when I did, I got the news from my assistant coach that two of our best linemen were going to be lost for the season because of grades and discipline issues.

Of greatest concern was the fact that we'd lost two more men, which put us at 20 players for our team and we wouldn't be able to scrimmage each other for a Friday practice. We needed two more people to put up on the line, just so we could help our O-line adjust to shifts and stunts to help improve our dwindlingly talented front five for our next game. My only solution: we (my 36 year old assistant and me, an out of shape 32) would have to suit up and play line for our practice.

"God, we can't do that," my assistant objected, obviously concerned about keeping his job. "We'd get fired if they found out we were playing with the kids like that."

"We've got no other options, coach," I replied. "It's either that or we cancel practice again, and go into next week's game without adequate pratice, while all of our opponents do nothing but improve each week".

Reluctantly, and after the blessing of our Athletic Director, my assistant agreed. We got down to the equipment room and found a helmet that somewhat fit and some pads that worked alright, if you don't mind squeezing your head through a mouse hole. In the large- sized youth equipment, we looked like two giants that had just experienced a sudden and violent five foot growth spurt. We looked somewhat menacing, somewhat intimidating.

We looked absolutely ridiculous.

Neither one of us were overly excited to run practice this way, but we desperately needed this practice and we couldn't have another week of half-squad practices that only ran plays to the right and the left with no thought or idea as to where the run was going. We decided to keep our practice idea to ourselves, not only to keep the kids quiet while in class, but to keep our Principal unaware of our hands-on technique, as well. (We told her later, and, surprisingly enough, she thought it was a great idea).

When we finally made our way up to the hill tha afternoon, our 7th grade squad had already worked their way through half of their warm- ups. As we came over the top of the hill, our defensive captain noticed the pads and helmets in our hands.

"Coach, are you playing today?" I could tell he was obviously amused, and the thoughts of finally getting a lick on the old ball coach after those end-of-practice suicides and gassers would be way too sweet for our middle linebacker who we nicknamed "Mr. Pain".

The rest of the team turned, and the same bewildered and excited looks came across their faces. For once, we'd have to get in there with them, sweating and panting, straining and groaning, not only to sympathize with their struggles a bit but to empathize with their situation, too. I saw a spark in the group that I hadn't seen all year long, even after our first win back in August.

The kids were, to say the least, keyed up.

We explained why we were there and that we weren't going to hit anyone or tackle anyone; additionally, we were simply there to penetrate the gaps and call the shifts and to see if our line could figure out what to do. On the first play, I played the end position in our 53 defense. Immediately, our weak side TE came out and jammed his facemask right into the side of my arm, sending an instant jolt of pain through my arm that I hadn't felt in years. If the pain wasn't enough, I also realized that our lineman didn't know how to block down, and the TE who came across and tagged me was supposed to let me go and try to hit the Will backer, instead. My assistant noted that our TE on the strong side did the same, causing our Sam backer to penetrate the C gap and hit our runningback behind the line. Again, the TE was supposed to hit the SLB and our fullback was supposed to take out my assistant on the sweep.

Instantly, I began to realize the success in our plan. With out first string offense on the other side of the ball, I decided to pump up our rag-tag players (the little and slow guys) by explaining to them a defense I had been studying in the AFCA Defensive Strategies Guidebook.

It was the Junkyard Eight, described by none other than Erk "Erskine" Russell.

Within moments, we had addressed our offensive line issues and we began turning our rag tags into the Junkyard Eight. I even got my middle linebacker understanding how to read the offense on the other side and call for line shifts and secondary coverage. The big boys on the other side of the ball were actually thrown off and a bit intimidated when the Eight went into action, and by the time practice was over the two groups had become so competitive that everyone was flying around the ball, hitting their assignments, and firing off like they'd never had before.

On the last play of the game, our Junkyard Eight stopped a strong side sweep on the two yard line, preserving the defensive victory for the team. The defense went ballistic. Caught up in the excitement, as I was springing over to our 76 pound cornerback who had made the first stop, I did something I told myself I'd never do:

I butted heads with a student.

Not in a violent way, not in a mean way, and not in way that was misunderstood as anger or agression; rather, we had gotten into the trenches with the kids and had become one of them, had shown them how to succeed, and it was all because we decided to drop the whistles and the shouting and simply lead by example.

My cornerback grinned from ear to ear, obviously happy with the fact that he'd gotten coach's approval. You'd have thought we'd won the Super Bowl, the Rose Bowl, and the World Series all at the same time, but we hadn't. We simply made a little breakthrough and went from being the bad news bears of our league to becoming the Junkyard Dawgs.

My assistant came over to me afterwards and said, "well, that was fun. I can't believe you head-butted our corner, though."

The only thing I could think of was the picture of Erk Russell that I had on my bedroom wall at home. His head bloodied, a trademark gameday image during the years of the Junkyard Dawgs defense, he looked no worse for wear and was calmly instructing his defense on the sideline.

"Well," I replied, "if it worked for Erk Russell, it certainly couldn't hurt for us!"

***********************

That was yesterday. Today, as I customarily do, I plugged in my iPod and listened to a few songs of the Allman Brothers, Skynyrd, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and finally American Trilogy (Elvis, of course). I didn't listen to the radio and hadn't checked the internet at work. I never thought that the first thing I'd hear when I turned on the news was that Erk had passed away. I only met him once, but once was enough to make an impression.

I was a Graduate Assistant in the Sports Management program at Georgia Southern back in 2000. Every year, they have a golf tournament for athletic directors and coaches throughout the southeast, and I was asked to drive one of the refreshment carts around the course during the tournament. I drove one cart, filled with beer in a large cooler on the back, and followed another cart driven by two gorgeous little co-eds that had only colas and water.

We were arriving on the 11th hole, cutting through a little sidepath between one hole and the other. As we came out in the clearing, we realized we were practically on the green, and Erk was lining up a medium ranged putt with the greatest of care.

Erk heard the mechanical "clack" of the brake talking hold on the carts and took a careful glance back over his shoulder. Realizing what we were carrying on our carts, he simply let go of the putter, letting it drop to the ground, and turned and began shuffling towards our carts.

As Erk approached the first cart with the two girls, he turned on his trademark accented charm. "Well, a lovely afternoon to you two lovely ladies! What might you have in that cooler there?"

The two girls giggled and replied that they had Coke, Sprite, water, etc. Erk turned to me and said, "and you, kind sir, what do you have in your cooler there?"

"Miller Light, Bud Light, Coors..." I replied.

Erk turned to the girls, smiled, and said, "It was nice meeting you ladies, but y'all got nothing that interests me!" As the girls and I and everyone in his golfing party died in laughter, he simply waved his hand and the girls, shuffled to my cart, and lined every pocket that he had with beer from my cooler.

I met him one other time, in a small convenience store in Statesboro called "The Country Store". I introduced myself and told him I had been to UGA and was now at Georgia Southern, and he said:

"Well welcome to Statesboro, son, but whether you're here or in Athens, you can't go wrong."

Damn right, coach.

Goodbye, coach. Even though I didn't know you too personally, you were an inspiration to me as a coach, as a Dawg and Eagle fan, and as a human being.