About 30 years ago, as a newcomer to the metropolitan Atlanta area I was looking to get involved in the community; looking for something productive to do after work for a few hours per week. Coming home and plopping down on the couch was growing a bit stale, and I thought about maybe doing some tutoring or literacy training at a nearby library. Fortunately, as a huge fan of the small, community newspaper, I managed to spot a fresh pile of them one night in a grocery store and picked one up. While flipping through it I noticed a recreation center in the area was looking for volunteer basketball coaches for its youth program, and posted an advertisement. Coaching youth basketball was not something I ever envisioned myself doing, but my curiosity was piqued. Maybe this was something I could actually do and enjoy.
At the time, had anyone told me this would be my primary volunteer activity for the next twelve winters I’d have taken them to the hospital immediately.
THE FIRST HURDLE: MAKING THE CALL
After some hesitation I called the number provided and spoke with the league director who filled me in on the details: location, time and date of “tryouts”, the age groups available, the pros and cons of working with each age group, and how the team selection process worked. The gym was located a couple of miles from my apartment, which was perfect. I’d worked with kids before in an academic setting, but I’d never coached basketball before at any level and had only played some “disorganized” ball as a youngster.
After a few minutes talking to the director, I decided I’d give it a try by working with the 10-and-under group. My anxiety level about tripled as tryout day drew closer and self-doubt began to creep in. Should I have started out as an assistant coach first to learn the ropes? I’d asked the director about that, but he stressed the need for head coaches, and my lack of experience would only be an issue if I wasn’t interested in learning the ropes. I had about ten days to back out, which I seriously considered.
THE FIRST DAY: SKILLS ASSESSMENTS
Finally tryout day arrived, and after working the usual eight-hour shift and making a quick stop home to grab a bite, I headed to the gymnasium.
I nervously walked into the crowded, noisy gymnasium. There were people everywhere, it seemed, and I didn’t know any of them. The stands were packed with parents, siblings and friends of the participants. Kids of all ages were running in different directions on the court. Some were dribbling basketballs while others, after being confined to their desks at school all day, appeared to be running just be running. As it turned out, I had walked in right after the “tryouts” (these were really more like “skills assessments” since everyone was guaranteed a spot) for the 8-and-under division had ended and right before the “10-and-under” division – where I would be coaching – was about to begin theirs.
I walked the the desk where some “official looking” folks were and introduced myself to everyone, including the guy I spoke with on the phone. He remembered the conversation, which put me a bit at ease, but not much. I looked at the chaos around me and wondered if this was the norm.
Suddenly a bespectacled gentleman, who looked to be in his forties and about 5’10” tall, stormed into the gymnasium with some papers in his hand and ordered everyone off the court. This guy was loud and brash and didn’t need a bullhorn. His voice filled the entire gym and, very likely, the building next door. Within a matter of seconds the court had emptied and everyone was either in the stands or standing nearby. Then he made the call for everyone coaching in the 10-and-under division to come to center court.
I walked to center court and was joined by four other gentlemen, plus the guy who called us there. He shook hands with the other four guys, then looked me completely up and down before asking, “You ever coach before?”
“Never,” I responded.
“Great,” I thought to myself. “I’m the only newcomer here. I’m gonna get destroyed.”
We were each handed a sheet of paper with a list of names and a corresponding number, which each of the approximately 40 kids was wearing. There were several categories specifying certain drills each kid would be put through – a walking dribble, a speed dribble, a shooting drill and, finally, a scrimmage – and we were to grade each kid on those skills, then bring those results to the draft that Saturday morning to select our players.
This meant that before drawing up your first play, you had to have some chops as a talent evaluator, or develop some in a hurry. I’d never done this before, either, but I thought the ability to select your own team was really cool.
As former New England Patriots coach and wannabe General Manager Bill Parcells once said as he was lobbying for more input in personnel decisions: “If they want you to cook the dinner, at least they ought to let you shop for some of the groceries.”
THE TALENT GAP
Before any of the drills started, it became clear which kids were the more experienced ones just by watching the level of confidence they exuded as their names were called. There was huge talent gap between the best and worst player, and a very large height differential between the shortest and tallest kids. And from accidentally overhearing some of the conversation from the other coaches on purpose, getting a decent big player was paramount at this age level.
After watching a few minutes of the dribbling drills and some initial discomfort over the concept of “grading” these kids, I suddenly felt overcome with arrogance as I thought I already knew enough about the players without sticking around for the rest of the drills. I’m glad I stayed, because as it turned out, some of the slickest ballhandlers couldn’t shoot, and some of the worst dribblers were sharpshooters.
From watching the scrimmages, I also learned a lot about the probable game flow for the 10-and-under division, at least at the beginning of the season. The best players were athletic enough to grab a defensive rebound, and handled the ball well enough to start a fast break and go end-to-end and finish with a layup, or had the anticipation skills to get a steal and finish with a layup. Without at least one player like that on your roster, you were probably done. That evening, I saw maybe four players who could do that. In a six-team league, you had to get one. Somehow.
There were also the inexperienced kids who at the first sign of defensive pressure would tuck the ball under their arm and run with it as if carrying a football, or would just curl up around the ball and end up in a wrestling match with a defender trying to take it away from him. There were enough of these players to go around as well. And these kids knew each other well; when they saw the ball in the hands of a kid who couldn’t dribble, they would pounce.
Not having a rating system when I walked into the gymnasium, I had to develop one the fly, adding some descriptive adjectives (“tall”, “fast”, “shooter”, “yells at teammates”, “bad attitude”, etc.) in the margin next to each player’s name. Since I enjoy a quicker tempo and thought a half-court offense would seldom be needed at this level, the quicker players got an asterisk next to their names, even if they were clearly inexperienced. This, after all, was a teaching opportunity above anything else.
The 10-and-under tryouts were over, and there were still two more divisions to go featuring the older kids. I hung around for a little while and picked the brains of one of the other coaches (who, as it turned out, had been doing this for about a decade) then I went home and spent the rest of the week studying my list and preparing my strategy for the Saturday morning draft.
DRAFT DAY SATURDAY ARRIVES
I arrived at the recreation center (early) that Saturday morning, joined by the director and the other coaches in our division. There were more than six guys in the room; some of the coaches had brought their assistant coaches with them. “Man, this is serious,” I thought to myself. The 5’10” bespectacled guy who basically ran the tryouts walks in last, and I was surprised to learn that he was going to coach one of the 10-and-under squads as he had a son in that age group. He walked past and with an evil smirk muttered something about ‘two guaranteed wins’ to no one in particular while looking in my direction, drawing laughter from the other coaches.
I pretended like I didn’t hear him, but the competitive juices started percolating (which really isn’t supposed to be the point of this exercise, or so I thought). It was time to lighten up because as I would learn later, the lighthearted banter and trash-talking between the coaches turned out to be a survival tactic.
He was one of two coaches who had sons playing in the 10-and-under division, and by rule the coach automatically got to coach his kid unless he declined to do so, and the remaining coaches would decide which draft round those kids would be selected based on their ability. In this case, both clearly had first-round talent, including one who was the best player in the league. Of course, both fathers protested that their sons should be second-rounders, which would enable them to select another top player in the first round, but were quickly rebuffed. We weren’t buying it. First-rounders, both of them.
A BASKETBALL LOTTERY WITHOUT PING-PONG BALLS
The next order of business was to determine the draft sequence, which had each of the coaches drawing a number out of a box. I came in thinking if I ended up selecting anywhere lower than fourth, this would be a totally “developmental” first season, and I was okay with that, at least until the ‘two guaranteed wins’ comment.
The box containing the six numbers went around to each coach, and it came to me last. Before I could open the folded piece of paper with my draft order inside, one of the other coaches blurted out an expletive. I immediately thought he’d selected number five or six and I was right. There was only one number left in the box when it got to me, and I unfolded the piece of paper to reveal the number two.
BINGO!!
This was already going too well. The coach whose son was the best player in the league picked the number one from the box and his kid would have been selected first anyway, so it was my show. I selected a tall, skinny kid who had several asterisks next to his name on my list. He was a natural scorer, rebounder and passer. And he was quick enough running the floor. I had my “go-to” guy already. When I called out the kid’s name, the league director made sort of a grunting noise.
“What?” I asked.
“Looks like you know what you’re doing,” the director replied.
I suddenly felt more confident as the room grew quiet. As the draft progressed, I noticed that the other coaches were bypassing some of the kids I had ranked high on my list. Perhaps I didn’t know what I was doing, or maybe it was something else. My second- round selection I had rated as a first-rounder, and my third and fourth-round picks I had ranked as second-rounders.
When I made my third-round selection, one of the other coaches made a grunting noise.
“What?” I asked again, this time at a higher octave..
“That kid is good, but good luck dealing with his daddy. He’s crazy.”
Another coach chimed in, “Yeah, I wasn’t touching that one. Good luck.”
The draft neared its conclusion, and my seventh-round (and final) pick drew more groans from a couple of the coaches, the loudest of the morning. I couldn’t imagine how I might have disrupted their competitive game plan that late in the draft, as now only kids who would need to be taught the very basics of basketball were remaining on the board.
“NOW what?” I asked out loud.
One of the coaches said emphatically, “Have you seen that kid’s mother?”
So evidently some of the other coaches had been working the margins of their player list as well, making note of the appearance of the kids’ mothers. Wasn’t getting into that, but since we were allowed a five-minute window for post-draft trades, I offered the infatuated guy an opportunity to exchange players so he could get closer to his dream girl (who turned out to be married), but after some negotiating it was clear he was trying to rip me off, so I backed out.
RULES, REGULATIONS AND RESPONSIBILITIES
After each of the rosters were finalized, the rules were handed out. Six teams, seven players per team, and each player must play two complete quarters of each game (so really you could only make a substitution if a kid was in serious foul trouble, if then). One practice per week for one hour on half of a court in one of the city’s three recreation centers. The coaches were responsible for lowering the basket to a height of 8.5 feet at the start of practice, then raising it back to 10 feet at the end of practice.
The league schedule would be handed out a week later, uniforms three weeks later. The coaches were also required to take a certification class which included first-aid, coaching techniques and other pointers. There would be mandatory coaches meetings as well. After your game was over, you had to keep score or work the clock and scoreboard for the next game or forfeit your game. And one Saturday during the season, your team was responsible for running the concession stand and collection of admission at the door. For the entire day.
We then selected team names based on the uniforms available. I selected the politically-incorrectly named Bullets; there were also the Lakers, Hawks, Nets, Bucks and Knicks.
The season would start exactly four weeks after the draft with Saturday morning games at either 9:00 AM, 10:00 AM or 11:00 AM and two games on Wednesday nights. Two games against each of the other five teams, followed by a double-elimination tournament. The two teams with the best regular-season records would advance to a District Tournament with a chance to participate in the Georgia 10-and-under State Tournament.
Huh? This was a bigger deal than I thought.
Win or lose, I just wanted the opportunity to teach some kids the fundamentals of basketball and build up their confidence level, then go home.
What have I gotten myself into?
NEXT: PRACTICE TIME – WHAT TO DO NOW?
Good setup. Very interesting…