You would think that a person who was one of sixteen Airmen chosen by the U.S. Air Force to be trained in the use of computers in the late summer of 1960 might have a clue about negotiating Facebook, but unfortunately (for me) you would be wrong. I have been trying for weeks to write a simple thank-you to a group of guys who took me out to dinner on October 19th. Twice I had an elaborate post almost finished and twice I did something wrong and everything disappeared. Lynda suggested that I put it into a WORD document, so here goes: One day when I walked in the door to our house after having spent the day commuting to and teaching in Monroe, some thirty miles away, Diane (my first and late wife) informed me that I was going to be our son Craig’s new basketball coach. She knew I wouldn’t mind, she said. That was why she “volunteered” me. It was a team made up of first and second-graders. When I asked Craig to name the players on the roster, he was able to name only one, himself... Actually, there were three, Craig, a kid named Chris, and another little kid named Troy. So, it seemed we needed to find at least seven more kids, so that we could scrimmage. Preferably, we would have twelve kids on the squad in case of illness or injury. So, we started canvassing the neighborhood. First, we asked Jimbo, a tall, athletic, well-liked kid whose immediate reply was, “I hate basketball!” When we talked about the fun the team would have, he joined. We asked Keith Wimmer’s parents (the Wimmers lived across the street), and the mother’s reply was something like: “Bubble-butt? He can’t walk and chew gum.” Maybe not, .but he placed sixth in the state in the 100 meter dash in his senior year and did well enough as a running back in football to garner attention from the University of Arizona. We had ten on our team, called ourselves Red Tide, and stayed together through high school basketball. There were times when I would look out on the floor when the varsity was playing and all five guys were once on Red Tide, including Jim Dallas who at 6’3” led Mountlake Terrace and later Edmonds C.C. in rebounding. T.T. Roe, who became an 800 meter champion at the U of W and Craig shared most of the ball-handling duties. We played wherever we could find a game, tournaments in Redmond and Raymond, South Bend and White Pass. Diane was in the later stages of her battle with cancer, and she stayed for the week before the South Bend tournament in South Bend with my sister Karen and her family. That was a much-needed respite, and I love Karen for having done that. We also boasted a guard/forward combination in ultra-quick Patrick Normile. Every successful program has the kid who lives and breathes his sport. For Red Tide that would be the current president of the Washington State High School Basketball Coaches Association Nalin Sood whose father Virenda (Vic) Sood was the primary moving force behind the Snohomish County Transit System. When we were in the Harbor, I asked Vic if he would like to take a ride and see a herd of elk. He thanked me and then told me that he had grown up on the shores of Lake Victoria in Africa where his dad was a doctor a place that was obviously teeming with wildlife. When Rodger Ottmar, Terrace’s Washington State all of Fame coach heard about the upcoming trip to Willapa Harbor, he said (in a drawl that Jimbo could imitate perfectly) “Well, Jimbo, so you’re gonna go play some basketball I hear. Probably sleep in the gym. Probably eat camping food like beans and weenies. I like beans and weenies. Used to eat ‘em when we went camping.” Keith Wimmer’s dad Ron drove his camper down and we did, indeed, eat beans and weenies for lunch and dinner. That could cause some real problems in enclosed places like the car or camper even or even in one instance, the whole South B end gym. Craig was walking past Jimbo who was jumping at center to start the second half and Craig said something on the order of, “Hey, Jimbo, here’s a present!” He then let fly with his gift which was meant for Jimbo’s ears (and nose) only. Unfortunately, it was at the precise moment when everything in the entire gymnasium stopped, no talking, not even a whisper. No tennis shoes were squeaking, nothing…except for Craig’s gift. Both benches as well as the sparse crowd of spectators erupted into laughter while the referee walked down to the circle at the far key and said, “Let’s jump it down here, probably safer”. On our way back out of town, we stopped at Terry Bennet’s (my nephew) house and someone (I think it might have been Chris Ramirez) asked to use Terry’s facilities. Later, when Terry went in to use his bathroom, he let out a roar saying, “My God, who was just in here? That will peel paint off these walls! That’s a man-sized effort right there, I gotta shake his hand!” Beans and weenies indeed. Never again! The kids were ninth-graders, moving into high school and were playing small school varsities around Western Washington. We won about half our games that summer. Relationships. That is all that teaching and coaching is about. There is no better way to earn a living and to live a life.
Posted on: Tue, 09 Dec 2014 03:00:21 +0000
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