You just had to be there. There was no one like him. There are people you meet later in life. Long after you were struggling your way through high school hallways. Years after youve stopped calling Northboro or Southboro your home town. Sometimes these people want to know your story. Where you came from. How you became who you are. Anytime Ive reached back in time to answer such weighty questions, the man who is always still standing there, in his spiked shoes, slacks and collared shirt, somehow intimidating and kind at the exact same time, is Coach Kronoff. Many times, Ive tried to describe Coach Kronoff to the people that have come into my life in the 30 years that have followed since high school and every time, I always feel that my words fall terribly short, like a wobbly pass thrown into a strong Northboro, November wind. You just had to be there, there was no one like him, is the best Id ultimately come up with. I mean, how do you begin to describe a true living legend? Just the football half of our story with him was once-in-a-lifetime, still hard to believe it happened, amazing. Those of us that were with him in the 1980s remember the depths of failure our Algonquin football program had sunken to in the winless years that preceded him. We had gone two and a half entire years without a single win. Two and a half years! And the atmosphere around the team had become as depressing as the team record. No one wore their game shirts around school given their association with failure. There were half-time screaming matches between players and coaches. Kids at times quit the team in the middle of practice, once even in the middle of a game. It was ridiculous. And horrible. I remember it actually feeling like we might never win a game. And then everything changed. I can still recall exactly where I was, just outside of Mr. Wallaces homeroom on G corridor, when a buzz filled the Algonquin hallways. It was the spring before my Junior year and rumors were ablaze that Mr. Kronoff, the beloved teacher who was already in the Massachusetts High School Coaches Hall of Fame, might be coming out of retirement to take the sorry program over. Did he ever. Before the season started, I remember the intensity of the practices. He never shouted, was never cruel, but he noticed EVERYTHING. You could be running 20 sprints in a row in a pack of players and if on the 19th one you let up just a little, he saw it. And youd be devastated if he called you out on it. He insisted that wed never be out-prepared. He demonstrated precision technique in the smallest details. He expected perfection. But as hard as the practices were, there was still fun in them. He made sure of it. The first game we played with him as our coach was played at Shephard Hill and were winning for much of it. We couldnt believe it. It was actually happening. The losing streak was going to end. And then we fell behind, with only minutes to go and Shepherd Hill had possession of the ball. They were going to run out the clock and we would lose. Again. Suddenly Steve Tobin intercepted a pass with seconds remaining, returning it 90+ yards for a touchdown as every player utterly lost their minds on the sidelines. And just like that, we were winners My most vivid memory of that incredible game was seeing him walking onto the bus as we shook it on its frame from inside of it, with our long awaited celebration. As he climbed onboard, I was shocked to see our reserved coach with an enormous ear to ear smile, looking every bit as excited as the rest of us as we swarmed him in our celebration. We loved him. We were his team. There were many more wins to follow culminating with a State Championship within a few years. I mean, considering where the program was, literally the worst in the entire state, how does that even happen? Coach Kronoff made it happen. Its that simple. He had other teams and other historic successes. 30 years before coaching at Algonquin, he coached the only undefeated team in Worcester County in 1955 as he led Bartlett High to a perfect season his FIRST year coaching there. He was so successful at Marlboro High that his name is memorialized on the Wall of Fame there (its the first thing I always looked for when my daughter played in volleyball tournaments there). He played for Holy Cross in the College Football National Championship against the University of Miami. He was even drafted by the New York Giants and played a season of pro football. His football credentials are truly legendary. But thats barely half the story... The reason we all still share a bond tied to him that remains connected after decades have passed, is far more than any won-loss records. Its because of the great man that he was that our hearts ached this week when we learned of his passing. And this is the hardest part to describe to others. I mean, what was it about him? How is it that he inspired such complete awe and reverence from us when we were 16 and 17 year old smart asses, more interested in cutting a class than running that same off-tackle play for the 17th time in a row on our grassless, dusty practice field? For one thing he was tougher than an Algonquin cafeteria steak. His face bore the scars of years of playing football before the modern comforts of... well... helmets and face masks. There are countless stories of him even in his 60s, getting into a three point stance and demonstrating how to throw a block against a blocking sled, or one of his players, they in full pads, him wearing a dress shirt and the player usually being the one to feel it afterwards. I honestly never met anyone tougher. Yet at the same time, I never met more of a gentleman. He insisted his players comport themselves with class at all times. Taunting other players, arguing with officials, even swearing: absolutely prohibited. One time I fell, dropping a pass and hit the ground with my fist in frustration. As I jogged back to the huddle, I heard him quietly say, Dont hit mother earth, she didnt drop it. Excessive celebration or drawing attention to yourself was equally unacceptable. This was the polar opposite of the world around us as we were in the middle of the 80s, the birth of the me generation, the era of University of Miami football, The Lakers and Showtime, Mark Gastineau and his sack dances, Dione Sanders and Prime Time. All around us, particularly in sports, selfishness and showmanship abounded. One Monday we were all together watching game film when everyone exploded in laughter as we watched our star defensive end start to dance after a sack. Well, almost everyone laughed. The outburst stopped as fast as it started when Coach K stopped the film for a moment and said simply, And now watch what happens... A moment later, we saw a sub run onto the field, tap the celebrating D-End on the shoulder, and just like that, off the field, to the bench he went. No spotlights on individuals. Not on his team. He was a man of few words but every word from him felt meaningful. Maybe thats why there are a thousand things Ive forgotten since high school, but I remember every compliment he ever sent my way, like he spoke it a second ago. He had no use for a lot of pre-game hooting and hollering or hollywood speeches. Waste of energy he used to dismiss it all as. In fact, the only time I remember him giving us a pre-game talk at all came the week after an unexpected, mid-season tie against a lesser opponent. Making it worse, we had been in first place and the tie had put our post season eligibility in jeopardy. A week later, as we were lined up outside of our beloved Algonquin, preparing to walk through the small wooded path before approching the field he said simply: Theres been a lot of TALK (you could hear the distatste he had for the word talk as he said it) about how good this team is. After last week, Im not sure what kind of team we have. There was a long pause followed by: I guess well find out today. We had let him down and now were climbing out of our skin to redeem ourselves. We won by a landslide that day. Its still the best pre-game speech Ive ever heard. I could detail stories of the jury trials I won as an attorney because of the lessons in preparation he taught me, but Id surely bore you. I could share self-serving stories of all the times Ive been complimented on my manners, with the complimenter assuming it came from my parents or my time spent in the military. But the truth is, it came from him. I could share some of the times I found myself kicked into the dirt in life and how the resolve to fight my way back out of it came more from the lessons taught by him than anything else. But those of us that were graced to know him, all have these stories dont we? There are certain people in your life that affect you so profoundly, any words you use to describe them or their impact on you always seem futile. And so it is as I look over the words Ive written here. But this much I know: He was the toughest, most gentlemanly, demanding and kindest person I ever met. All at once. There truly was no one like him. God bless you, Coach Kronoff. I will be forever grateful that my path crossed yours. You continue to coach me every day...
Posted on: Thu, 17 Jul 2014 19:44:43 +0000
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