This is the second of an I’m-not-sure-how-many-part series about my own experiences coaching youth basketball and the many challenges, frustrations, triumphs and rewards that can result from taking on a volunteer assignment of this (or any) kind. The fuzziest details have been omitted, others are unforgettable (even 20 to 30 years later), still others will come to me only after I post a section, but I’ll work them in somehow.
The Saturday morning draft was over and the six rosters for the 10-and-under divisions were set. I walked out of the draft room with my list of players and the phone numbers where their families could be reached, feeling pretty good about my selections based on how I had them ranked. The next time I would return to the recreation center would be one night during the during the next week for the first practice. Before leaving I stopped by the office and booked a one-hour 7:00PM practice time for the following Wednesday evening.
As it turned out, the draft was the easy part. There were three items to take care of in the next few days: 1) call each player’s home, introduce myself to their parents and let them know the specifics of the first practice, 2) having never done this before, plan out how to best utilize the one hour allotted for practice, and 3) execute the practice plan.
I had little more than three days to develop a structured basketball practice plan for a bunch of nine and ten-year-olds. I had no idea what I was going to do or how to do it, so I needed a guide. There was no World Wide Web back then, so a trip to the bookstore was the ticket.
WHAT’S A BOOKSTORE?
After leaving the rec center, I hauled myself straight to Borders Bookstore (remember those things?) north of downtown Atlanta and browsed the Sports section in search of a basic guide to coaching youth basketball. I saw several volumes on the subject, but only a couple actually focused on coaching kids at an elementary school level. I flipped through a few and was amazed at the level of intricacy of some of the diagrams in some of those books, which were clearly targeting coaches at the high school and college levels.
I sure as heck wasn’t trying to teach the Princeton Offense to a bunch of nine and ten-year-olds.
After skimming through some of the publications, I became even less interested in team strategy — at least at the beginning — and more interested in teaching the raw fundamentals. That made my decision on which book(s) to buy easier, and I managed to find a couple of rather good ones that featured tips on practice organization and time management and included some basic drills, though most assumed a roster of at least ten players, the use of a full basketball court and 90 minutes to two hours of practice time.
We would have none of those. Seven kids on half of a court for one hour. Creativity was a must. I made my purchases based on the good advice inside, knowing I’d have to improvise some.
PLANNING WITHOUT A CLUE
I went home and spent a couple of hours perusing through my new purchases, then suddenly realized this new non-paying gig was consuming me. I was getting some good ideas from these two books and taking notes and at least ended up with a plan for how to spend the first of the four practices, then I’d plan out the other three prior to the first game after seeing how this one went.
I decided I would spend the first practice doing introductions, followed by stretching, some walking, power walking, jogging and sprinting around the full court, each of which I’d take part in as well. Then I’d explain the basic rules (we used high school rules) and put the kids through some dribbling, passing and shooting drills and work on some defensive slides, while not spending more than about six to eight minutes on each drill to keep them engaged (as one of the books explained).
My goal was to carry out most of that within the first 45 to 50 minutes, then leave any remaining time for free play. It turned out to be a very ambitious plan, but at least I would walk in the door with one.
Next came the difficult part…
TIME TO MAKE THOSE CALLS
As someone with an aversion to making phone calls, especially to folks I’ve never met, the act of making the seven calls to introduce myself and deliver the date and time of the first practice turned out to be the first opportunity to procrastinate, and I waited until Sunday evening to make them. I actually felt like a salesman (I’d starve, seriously) making cold calls. I didn’t want to talk to any of the kids, I wanted to speak with their parents. As it turned out, Sunday evening was the best time to call because most people would be home.
Most of the phone calls were very quick and lasted no more than a couple of minutes. I spoke with a parent each time, told them my name, when and where the first practice would be, the name of the team, and how they could reach me. Then I asked if they could stick around for about 10 minutes after practice for a quick meeting.
Again, most of the phone calls were very quick and lasted no more than a couple of minutes. One parent sounded as if she didn’t remember registering her kid for a basketball program (“Your name is what? From where?”), forcing me to give a detailed explanation about which recreation league I was from, which sport, etc.. Maybe this kid was a multi-sport star or something.
I called the home of the kid who allegedly had the “crazy father”, but he wasn’t home at the time and I ended up speaking to another relative. I assumed it was just a matter of time before I’d find out why the other coaches avoided this kid’s family.
Another asked why it took me so long to call, as her son had evidently been nagging her since tryout day wondering which team had selected him. When I told her, she immediately told him. Then she made me go through the entire roster of names to see if she knew any of them, and I could hear the kid going “Yes!” in the background a couple of times. The kid’s mother knew some of them as well. “You have some good players but you’ll have to tighten up on a couple of them,” she offered.
“Great,” I thought to myself. “Now I have a crazy parent and a couple of knucklehead players on my roster. This ought to be interesting.”
The very last call I made was answered by the father of my fourth or fifth-round selection. The call lasted for about 30 minutes and turned out to be a phone interview, of sorts. He wanted to know if I’d coached before (I hadn’t), my coaching style (I didn’t have one yet, but he wanted to know if I was a “disciplinarian”, whatever that is), basketball philosophies, preferred style of play, everything . He sounded like a guy who just enjoyed talking hoops, knew the game and was anxious for the season to get started. I immediately thought of him as a candidate to be an assistant coach if I decided to have one. He said he’d attend the first practice, so we’d talk then.
With all the phone calls made I was all set for Wednesday night’s practice (or so I thought).
“WE’RE NOT TALKING ABOUT THE GAME…”
I arrived at the recreation center about 30 minutes early, coming straight from work and just stopping to pick up some Gatorade for the kids, and changed into more basketball-appropriate attire. I then went to the gym and there were two teams already practicing on opposite ends of the court from 6:00 until 7:00PM — one appeared to be another 10-and-under squad, the other, a 12-and-under team. I sat in the sparsely-populated stands and watched for a few minutes between peeks at the day’s Atlanta Journal-Constitution newspaper. The coach of the 10-and-under team spotted me, remembered me from the tryouts and draft day, and waved.
“You scouting already, coach?”
I just laughed. “Smart aleck,” I thought to myself.
I wasn’t scouting, but found it interesting that both coaches were practicing offensive and defensive sets already. I’d already decided I wasn’t going there until the second half of the third practice at the earliest. It would be straight cardio and individual skill development, and reinforcement of the rules until then. So at the beginning of the season, we’d be a bit behind in terms of game strategy, but I wasn’t concerned. It also gave me more time to learn my personnel and develop the plan best suited to them.
I sat by myself as the 7:00PM practice time drew a bit closer. I had my player list with me, but at that point the kids were just a bunch of names. I had no recall of what they looked like having seen them just for a few minutes on tryout night in a chaotic gymnasium. As the start time drew closer, some kids began to trickle in with their parents, and the anxiety level surged as, one by one, the names turned into real people who, for the next four months or so, would become basketball family.
“…WE’RE TALKIN’ ‘BOUT…PRACTICE!”
The clock struck 7:00PM and the two teams on the court ended their practice sessions and cleared the court. I walked to center court, called out the names from the list and asked them to join me, shaking their hands as they came over and praying they couldn’t detect how nervous I was. Kids sense these things, and at the first sign of weakness, I would have been toast.
All seven kids were there on time, but there were only a couple of folks in the stands. Evidently, most of the parents had dropped their kids off at the gym and went elsewhere, essentially turning me into a babysitter for the next hour. Then the team and I walked towards the half of the court previously occupied by the team in our age group so I didn’t have to lower the basket to 8.5 feet — it was already there.
I introduced myself and asked the kids to do the same. As it turned out, four or five of the kids already knew each other from school, and a couple were teammates at a lower division. I calmly laid out some ground rules, emphasized the concepts of teamwork and respect, then went through the day’s practice agenda (they all seemed to light up when I mentioned “free play” at the end) before asking the players if they had questions.
While answering the one question about how many games we’d play, I discussed the 10-game regular season followed by the double-elimination tournament. Then one of the kids began to giggle.
When I asked the kid why he was laughing, he replied (still laughing), “Coach, you said ‘TWAW-na-mint.'” The rest of the kids started to laugh. For sure, this little munchkin was making fun of my New York City accent. I didn’t know whether to laugh or make the team run laps. But what the heck, it was an icebreaker, so I laughed along.
I then took them on a tour of the court to explain some rules. It was really a struggle trying to explain the game to 4th and 5th graders — some of whom had never played before — in a language they’d understand after almost exclusively talking the game with adults. I noticed my first-rounder rolling his eyes and smirking a bit as I explained the rules as if he knew them already, but this was really for the benefit of the kids who were new to the sport, and I had three of them on my roster.
We then moved on to stretches and some laps around the gym, followed by some wind sprints and “suicides” (though I called them something else trying to be politically correct, even though our team name was the Bullets). I joined them, and, being only 27 years old at the time, I could hang out with them without collapsing. And while running around the edge of the court, I also realized that the other end was empty. We had the entire court to ourselves, and I started thinking of ways we could utilize it.
As the kids recuperated, I discussed some of the drills we’d go through (though I’m sure I was talking to myself as they tried to catch their breath), then I went to get them some Gatorade. It was about 7:20 already (an hour is really nothing), and the other half of the court was still empty. The kids came over to the stands with me, I handed out the beverages and told them to take a five-minute break before we started the drills as we’d run extremely hard. There were a couple of parents in the stands and I introduced myself.
I was talking to the father of my first-round pick, and suddenly I saw a bunch of kids walk into the gym, wearing sweaters and looking out of breath. They were followed by Mr. Bullhorn himself, Mr. “Two Guaranteed Wins”, the bespectacled guy. His 10-and-under team had the other court for the 7:00PM hour, and he walked down to greet me while his kids got ready. He had his kids running around a track at the high school adjacent to the recreation center before bringing them to the gym. Then, in his signature, eardrum-busting voice, he uttered the very words I was dreading to hear:
“Wanna scrimmage?”
I knew that was coming as soon as I saw him enter the gym. The kids immediately grew excited and started asking if we could scrimmage the other team, some already smiling in anticipation. I was totally against the idea, having not seen any of the players touch a ball yet and thinking solely of the practice plan I’d worked so diligently to generate, and we were already behind schedule. I went ahead and told the other coach I’d decide at 7:50, then I reconvened the kids and told them we could scrimmage if we ran through our drills first without incident, and the scrimmage would be different from free play. I’d be looking to see evidence of listening and learning.
Turned out to be the best thing that could have happened, as it gave me a chance to see the kids in a full-court setting, get a better idea of the game flow, and plan future practices, as plenty of teaching material would come out of it. Prior to the scrimmage, there was no way I was eliminating the defensive drills, and I warned the kids that playing time during the season would be determined by their willingness to get into a defensive stance and pass to open teammates. We did a passing drill utilizing the different types: bounce pass, chest pass, overhead pass, etc., then ran some fast break drills and shot some free throws.
Then it was time to scrimmage.
WHEN THE COACH LEARNS MORE THAN THE KIDS
One of the staff members was kind enough to agree to officiate the 10-minute scrimmage. I kept it simple: Man-to-man defense and a 1-3-1 set on offense just to keep the court balanced. I drew a very sloppy diagram on the back of the list I’d brought from home and told the kids to dig in on defense and stressed that fact that I had an utter disdain for non-productive dribbling. I brought my first and second-round picks off the bench, and they both looked at me like I was crazy when I told them they weren’t starting the game. But I was cautiously trying not to stigmatize the kids with less experience, which would be a season-long juggling act.
The egos on these 10-year-olds, I tell ya…
I also knew once the scrimmage started I’d be at a distinct disadvantage because even if I talked through a microphone with some disco speakers, there was no way I’d be able to out-volume the other coach, and he was yelling at his kids as if they were in high school. I wasn’t asking much, just wanted to see the proper foot movement on defense and sharing of the ball even if no points came out of it. The offense would come later.
Once the scrimmage began I was pleasantly surprised, particularly with the effort. A lot of these kids knew each other, and there was some friendly trash-talking going on before the jump ball. Just as I thought, the play was very sloppy with lots of turnovers, poor shot selection and defensive lapses, which was to be expected. The game flow was typical, with the best players dominating the action (and the ball) while the inexperienced kids ran alongside them. I remained calm, which was all I knew to do. The other coach was yelling at everyone, including the poor staff member who left the comfort of his office to play referee for a few minutes of a meaningless scrimmage. He even stopped the game to make his own son run a couple of laps for complaining about being removed from the game.
I brought my top two players in the game and we went on a huge run, though we weren’t keeping score. It was supposed to be just a workout for the kids and a chance to learn to play as a unit, but we all know how these things work. And I believe both coaches knew what the score was. The other coach’s son was extremely gifted; a slick ballhandler who we had trouble containing, but it was clear that we had the deeper roster though we were collectively much smaller. My first-round pick was my best ballhandler, and he was also my tallest player.
As I would find out later, this created quite a dilemma.
THE FIRST MEETING WITH THE PARENTS
The ten minutes flew by and I called the players over and gave them some encouragement, then asked them to introduce me to their parents for a quick meeting. The stands were more full as the player’s families had returned from their errands to pick up their kids. I excitedly gathered them together for a quick introductory meeting, and before I could get a complete sentence out I heard someone calling me.
“Hey coach, you gotta raise this basket, man!”
Apparently a group of older kids — from the 14-and-under division — had reserved the court we’d been using, but for an 8:00PM practice. And they arrived to find a rim sitting at 8.5 feet from the hardwood floor. I was a little peeved at the idea of having to interrupt my meeting to raise a basket, but those were the rules.
Finally, I met with the parents, warily keeping an eye out for the “crazy daddy” I’d been warned about on draft day. At least on this night, he didn’t surface as each of the player’s parent(s) were very cordial. I even got a compliment or two on how I interacted with the players and how they looked during the scrimmage. After telling them a bit about my background, I told them up front that I wasn’t a screamer, didn’t kick water bottles and didn’t try to “work” referees, but advised them not to mistake that for apathy, and that I wanted the kids to have fun in a learning environment.
Evidently, one of the fathers wasn’t exactly buying that last part.
“You do want to WIN some games, too, don’t you, coach?”
No pressure or anything.
I responded by assuring him that if we learned the fundamentals, the winning would take care of itself. Not sure if he liked my answer, but that’s how I felt.
After going through some administrative stuff like asking for a volunteer team parent (several volunteers stepped up), and assistant coach (no one volunteered) among other items, the practice officially ended and I headed to the office to reserve a court for the next week’s practice.
HELPFUL ADVICE FROM AN UNEXPECTED SOURCE
On my way out of the gym, the other coach — who has also just finished meeting with his player’s parents — calls me over.
“Hey man, you have a good squad there. You wanna practice at the same time with us next week?”
While I was thinking about the potential pros and cons (specifically, my kids wouldn’t hear a word I said for the entire hour of practice), yet another coach who was running his team’s practice but overheard the conversation (not very difficult to do) turns around and jokes, “Don’t do it, coach. he wants to learn your plays.”
I laughed before replying, “That’s not a problem, I don’t have any.”
I agreed to practice at the same time and place opposite this guy for the following week if the courts were available. I felt like I could learn a little something from this more experienced coach, even though we were polar opposites in terms of personality. After the vibe I got from our initial encounter, I was surprised at how eager he was to share some of his knowledge.
We went to the office and booked the courts for the following week, then we walked out of the recreation center together. This cat turned out to be a bundle of information. Told me to buy a whistle, which I unbelievably hadn’t thought of doing, and also suggested that I go to a sporting goods manufacturer nearby and purchase something called a Korney Board, which is basically a clipboard you see the coaches at the higher levels use to diagram plays and demonstrate certain drills, and comes with either an erasable marker or magnets.
After speaking with this guy for about 30 minutes after practice, it was apparent that was really passionate about the sport, but he wasn’t about to let some 10-year-old kid run him. And he pointedly advised me to not allow that to happen, referencing the idea that the kids could mistake my calm demeanor for weakness.
We went our separate ways into the now cold, dark Georgia night. I was exhausted. Between running with those kids and meeting with the parents (I’d almost rather dig ditches than speak in “public”, even to small groups) and now feeling responsible for helping to develop the confidence of these seven youngsters, I felt a bit overwhelmed, but relieved that the first hurdle had been cleared without incident.
NEXT: Part 3 – THE SEASON DRAWS NEAR
