This is Part Five of an ongoing series rehashing experiences as a youth basketball coach. While I won’t go into as much detail for seasons two through twelve as I do for the first season–primarily because I don’t remember them all–there is still some personal evolution to discuss as well as some of the more interesting personalities I would encounter along the way. As usual, the real names have been changed or left out altogether to protect the innocent.
I didn’t have much time to enjoy our win, since I was assigned to operate the gymnasium’s electronic scoreboard and clock for the second game of the morning, a game which pitted Bullhorn’s Hawks against the Bucks, a gigantic team composed entirely of fifth-graders and coached by a father and son combo. Their voices combined were no match for Bullhorn’s volume, which filled the gym as soon as his team took the court for their warmups. I saw the way he was going at his players as they went through their layup drill–nothing abusive, just loud–then noticed the angry ref from the first game was headed back to the court to call this one as well.
OPENING DAY DRAMA
Bullhorn, the confident former NCAA ref coaching in a game officiated by a guy who still appeared to be angry with his alarm clock for waking him up on this morning? Heck, I almost got a tech called against me for saying nothing. This was a confrontation almost guaranteed to happen.
It didn’t take long, either. Bullhorn didn’t make it through the first half before being ejected by the angry ref with two technical fouls called at once. Ref makes a call, Bullhorn jumps out of his seat, accuses the ref of being out of position and dominating the other official, angry ref charges towards Bullhorn and tells him to sit down and shut up, Bullhorn goes ballistic, ref runs him out of the gym, leaving seven players stunned and temporarily without adult supervision. Once could easily surmise that there might have been some history between Bullhorn and that referee.
A couple of things here: I felt bad for the kids on both teams but particularly Bullhorn’s seven players because a) they had to witness this adult drama, and b) their coach, who despite all my smart aleck remarks about his volume, had a lot of basketball knowledge to impart to those kids, whom I truly believe he cared about. And he certainly couldn’t teach them anything from the parking lot of the recreation center. He didn’t have an assistant coach, and I honestly don’t remember who coached the team through the second half (it may have been one of the parents), but the Hawks ended up losing the game.
THE ACCEPTANCE OF REFEREE ABUSE
In addition, it was at this point that I really started feeling some empathy towards the referees, even the angry one, and even though he’d brought me some ‘tude in the first game. True enough, they knew what they were getting themselves into, and if they were bad (I didn’t think they were) at least it was to neither team’s advantage in our game. But the parents from both teams were all over them, the Bullets’ parents were destroying them in the first game, and they probably weren’t making a lot of money.
During that marathon of a coaches’ meeting we had a few weeks prior, I didn’t remember any mention of disciplinary action for coaches, but once Bullhorn raised the possibility of using a different association for referees, one could almost predict he’d have a showdown or three during the season. And they would have been correct.
We see how referees get abused during high school, college and professional games, and before I got involved in this league I’d heard stories about how youth games could be a bit contentious between the coaches and the referees (with an assist from some of the parents), but I’d already made up my mind that while I was going to protect my players, I wasn’t going to throw tantrums on the sidelines (nor would I allow my players to do it) based on officials, seemingly the only humans involved who aren’t allowed to make a mistake during a game. I was perfectly content to ask for an explanation of a call I disagreed with. Unfortunately, this laid-back method of dealing with game officials eventually would cause me problems during my years as a volunteer youth basketball coach, and witnessing the overall attitude towards the refs may have been the most uncomfortable part of doing this kind of work.
There was no way any kid would be able to say he learned poor sportsmanship or how to be disrespectful towards referees from me, and I made a point of mentioning the behavioral expectations during every practice and before every game.
Overall, I didn’t have an issue with the referees. Some were better than others, but I think everything evened out. In my twelve years in this program, I can only point to one instance where I thought there might have been some shady stuff going on with the refs. In this particular game, my players were getting called for touch fouls on defense but getting flattened while going to the basket and the refs would swallow their whistles. It got so bad that at halftime I told my players’ parents (and the league director) that if the trend continued, I was pulling my team off the court, consequences be damned.
ACTING LIKE A COACH OR ACTING, LIKE A COACH?
Many lifetime coaches are actors, and many at the college and professional levels we see acting up on television, stomping up and down the sidelines, screaming in referees faces with arms extended, yelling at players, throwing chairs and ripping off suit jackets while the announcers tell us what we’re already seeing (“Coach X is livid!!”). are merely trying to get an edge for their team or trying to save their own gigs. The stakes are higher–I get it–though I’m sure there are a handful who think the paying customers show up just to see them perform.
But when one of the more experienced coaches in our recreation league–who was also a football coach–mentioned during a casual conversation midway through my first season that I needed to “act more like a coach” (“You can’t just sit there and call out instructions, you have to be intense.”), it took me awhile to understand what he meant until I saw him in action a couple of times. It was at times hilarious watching some of the rec league coaches pacing the sidelines, trying to intimidate a $7 per hour official while wearing a constant scowl, barking at their players and looking exasperated by their team’s performance, but it also underlined how much we imitate what we see, even as adults. I often wondered if the kids were really the priority.
I also knew that I’d get laughed out of the organization were I to suddenly start carrying on that way. A guy like Bullhorn could pull it off because he was naturally an advanced Type A personality.
THE BULLETS’ REGULAR SEASON
The Bullets’ season started well, then we hit a dip at the worst possible time before finishing strong. We won our first six games and nine of our ten regular-season contests. The Lakers finished with eight wins, were at least our equal on the court, had the best player in the league and were coached by his father, an intimidating guy with a husky voice and one of the nicest guys I’d meet in the program. This fifth-grader dominated the league, was the fastest player, the best ballhandler and a ballhawk on defense. He also knew this and didn’t mind letting us or anyone else know it. The Lakers played a tight 2-3 zone for the entire season and it was difficult to crack, and we were also careful to keep the ball away from this guy, which meant we were basically running our offense on one side of the court when we played against them. He was good for about six to eight points per game just by converting steals into layups. We split our two games with them–both defensive struggles–while sweeping everyone else.
The highlight of the season was beating Bullhorn’s Hawks during our first meeting while playing nearly the entire fourth quarter with only four players after losing one player to injury and another two on fouls. My first-rounder took over the game offensively, and we went to some gimmick defense — a 1-1-2 zone — to get us by on defense. We would play zone for a few possessions each game just to confound the opponent, but this was the first time we played one of any kind for an extended period during the season. And yes, you better believe I never let Bullhorn forget that game.
The parents continued to be supportive and managed to make things even more fun. There was one episode where my fourth-rounder was at point guard and was advancing the ball up the floor after a made basket by the other team. His dribble was a bit high, so I instructed him to lower the dribble. I must have told him to lower his dribble about four times, and each time the dribble got higher (and he was smiling the entire time, as usual). The parents on both sides of the gym laughed hysterically. Though mildly irritated, I managed to find some humor in it (not realizing then how important having the ability to find humor would be in surviving these seasons), but I also knew I had to limit this kid’s minutes at the point until we got that straightened out. I made fun of him a bit at the next practice by mocking his dribble and it wasn’t a problem going forward.
We were beating the other teams in the league rather convincingly early on. I remember being in a supermarket one night after a win and some guy I’d never seen before came over and offered some compliments about the team. But as the season progressed the games became more competitive. My second-round pick began having asthma issues after about the seventh game, and it really magnified how important he was to our team, especially defensively. With him, we were really good at converting defensive pressure into offensive opportunities, and we weren’t nearly the same team without him. At the same time, we were improving, but it appeared the other teams were improving faster than we were. We had a couple of practices that weren’t as crisp as I would have liked. Looking back on it, the early winning made it a bit more difficult to get the kids’ attention as the season wore on.
THE DOUBLE-ELIMINATION TOURNAMENT
Our first tournament game was against the Nets, the same Nets team we’d beaten in the opener, then again later in the season. Shortly after arriving at the gym, I learned that my second-round pick was home sick. He also missed the regular-season finale which we ended up winning, but this was different. I felt like we could still beat this team, but we’d have some difficulty controlling their speedster without our best defender. This meant my three-point gunner and my giddy fourth-rounder would have to step up their games. But after I told my team during the pre-game warmups that we’d be down a player, the body language I saw during the layup drills was an accurate predictor.
We were in trouble.
About three minutes into the game, my first-round pick was whistled for his second foul. With the regular-season substitution rules no longer in effect–meaning free substitutions–I was able to replace him but not his output. Everything seemed to unravel after that. We started with only six players and one was in foul trouble, so I had to get out of the man-to-man defense we’d been playing for the entire season and sit back in a zone defense which took away some of our aggressiveness. Even when I re-inserted my first-rounder in the second quarter, I had to try to hide him in the inner depths of a 1-3-1 zone defense we had little experience playing.
So of course, he picks up his third foul before halftime, but it was an offensive foul.
My third, fourth and fifth-rounders took up some of the slack in the second half and I was proud to see how they’d grown since our first practice, but when my first-rounder picked up his fourth foul in the third quarter, we spent the rest of the game playing catchup, which we never did.
So we ended up losing a close game to the Nets and dropping into the loser’s bracket. One more loss and our season was over. I went home that night wondering why this loss was affecting me so much. I mean, this was supposed to be about child development, and I felt good about that part of it, and the kids appeared to be having fun but something was still missing. But the loss seemed to affect the kids, too, even the less experienced ones (which caught me completely off-guard), and the parents were also quiet but still supportive. The so-called “crazy father” who’d missed all but one or two of his son’s regular-season games was there for this one, and I heard him yelling some stuff at me (I wasn’t supposed to hear him) during the game. The next game would be two nights later against an opponent yet to be determined. When the league director called me at home the next night and told me that our opponent in the elimination game would be Bullhorn’s Hawks, I immediately got a sinking feeling.
This guy was in my head. Not good.
ON THE WRONG SIDE OF REVENGE
I arrived at the gym a bit early and was watching the game preceding ours. Bullhorn enters the gym, walks past me wearing an evil smirk and blurts out, “I can’t believe you let the drunk guy beat you.” I had no idea what he was talking about and wasn’t interested in finding out, though I probably should have been. Then, sounding like one of those television guys, he started talking about how difficult it is to beat a team three times in a season. Then his players walked in. I was sitting with a couple of my early-arriving players, and the Hawks’ players walked past us, confidently trash-talking us as we sat there stoically. This was beginning to resemble one of those Mike Tyson fights where you already knew the winner at the pre-fight staredown. Or as the cliché goes, “the players are taking on their coach’s personality.”
I was trying not to lose focus here, but I knew that if we ended up losing this game, I’d never hear the end of it.
So Bullhorn mentioned the “drunk guy” when he walked in–presumably talking about the Nets’ coach–then proceeded to follow his exact game plan and the one teams began using against us late in the regular-season, which was make us beat them without our top player and get us out of our man-to-man defense. We still didn’t have our second-rounder (and defensive catalyst) and I thought about starting the game in a zone defense to hide my top player, but opted to stick with the man-to-man and, of course, got burned.
Our first-rounder got in early foul trouble once again, but this time I left him in the game with two fouls in the first quarter while my unfortunate rabbit ears could hear folks screaming at me( I wasn’t supposed to hear them) to take him out. Poor kid had to play soft to stay on the court, but he was disciplined and didn’t pick up his third foul until late in the third quarter, but then he picked up his fourth on the very next trip up the court.
I thought we played well, and we got some offensive contributions from our 9-year-olds but some missed free throws at the end were costly, and Bullhorn’s son hit a late three-pointer to put the game out of reach. The buzzer sounded and the season was over. The players dejectedly lined up to shake hands with the winners, and I braced myself for the inevitable post-game handshake and unsolicited analysis from Bullhorn.
“Your team peaked too early in the season!!”
More TV guy stuff. Great.
I shook his hand and congratulated him. I didn’t say anything else, and couldn’t determine if he was right because I was feeling sick about the loss, and was feeling even sicker from not knowing why I was feeling sick about the loss. I could eventually deal with the loss, but the worst part was having the kids hand in their uniforms after the last game, especially if it’s a loss. I was dreading that moment; they’d had such a good season, were generally well-behaved and probably thought they could win the championship. And I think we all had fun. Instead they get eliminated and taunted at the same time. Before I could collect the uniforms, the director walks over and hands me a stack of papers. “Give these to the parents, then stop by my office before you leave,” he says, before walking away without an explanation.
THE SECOND CHANCE
I curiously looked down at the top sheet which had the heading, “District Four Boy’s Ten-and-Under Basketball Tournament with the dates, location, directions to the venue and a bracket. Our team name was already typed into one of the slots. With all the chaos of the latter part of the season I’d completely forgotten about the district tournament, but there was some confusion as to who would qualify from our program. At the coaches meeting we were told the top two regular-season finishers would qualify, but I’d later heard it would be based on the post-season tournament.
As it turned out, our local post-season tournament winner automatically qualified for the district tournament as well as the non-tournament winner with the best regular-season record, which was us.
I didn’t care how we got in. We were going, our season wasn’t over and the kids’–and those of their parents–faces lit up when I told them we had qualified for the district tournament. We had two weeks to prepare and make arrangements to travel to a neighboring county just to the south of us for the opening game against the host team. The Lakers, who ended up winning our tournament but had to climb their way through a brutal loser’s bracket to do it, were going, too. It would be kind of nice if we got a chance to meet up again.
We got four 90-minute practices in–being conscious of these kids study time but I was still criticized by one of the staffers for not practicing enough–and had the full court to ourselves each time. The sessions were fairly productive, and against my better judgement I spent more time than I wanted to on zone defenses. I was still stubbornly sticking to my man-to-man principles, even though my defensive guy had missed the first couple of practices. He was coming down to the district tourney with us, but his minutes would be limited. I was also hoping to find another reliable scorer in case we faced foul trouble. I’d been forewarned about the possibility of not getting any calls down there, especially against the host team.
On game night everyone met at the recreation center to convoy down to the game site, which was about 45 minutes away. I rode with one of the city employees and was amazed at how dark some of those roads were at night, and we ended up missing a turn you could barely see and drove right past the gym. All the while I couldn’t help but continue to wonder what I’d gotten myself into or if the team was prepared enough. I knew nothing about the team we were about to play against, and would have to make adjustments–quick ones–on the fly with the quarters being just six minutes long.
I don’t remember much about the game beyond the fact that a) we lost, b) the other team had two kids who shot the lights out, 3) the other team had 12 players to our seven and d) several of the coaches from our league made the trek down to the game and were sitting right behind me making suggestions throughout the game. Not sure if this was orchestrated with me being the new guy and all, but I ended up blocking them out and had to urge my kids to do the same. Too many voices, too much confusion.
It was a close game that was decided at the free-throw line, and our opponents simply made more of theirs and did a nice job of moving the ball in the last seconds as we needed to foul them but couldn’t. Once again, we were perhaps too reliant upon our first-rounder for scoring, while my second-rounder returned but only played a few minutes. I ended up taking my three-point gunner out and benching him for an extended period after he fired up a couple of wild, contested shots that turned into fast-break opportunities for our opponents. And once again, I ended up playing more zone defense than I wanted to, as their deeper bench wore us down. Our opponents also ran a very disciplined halfcourt offense with lots of movement.
Maybe I could teach a bunch of fifth-graders the Princeton offense after all.
The game was over, and I told the kids to be proud of what they’d accomplished. They didn’t seem as dejected as they did after we lost to the Hawks, perhaps because they wouldn’t have to see these kids in school or in the neighborhood to endure more trash-talk. I didn’t collect uniforms that night and told the team we’d work out collections at the team banquet a few days later. I got a lift home from my first-rounder’s father, and their entire family was in the van. I thought they were going to rip me to shreds, but it was a positive trip with some constructive criticism tossed in here and there.
I was tired. The season was over and overall I thought my first season was a good learning experience. I also wasn’t sure I wanted to do it again. Amazing how winning and losing can make you feel so different.
THE SEASON THAT WOULDN’T END
The very next day, the director called me at home, and I was certain I was about to be chided about my non-collection of uniforms. He was actually calling to inform me that our season was still not over if we’d agree to participate in an eight-team invitational tournament the following weekend hosted by our rec league involving us, another team from our league and a bunch of teams from surrounding cities and counties. I was assuming the other team from our league would be the Lakers, but they were busy plowing through to the Finals of the district tournament where they’d end up losing to the host team–the same guys who beat us.
I really wasn’t up to coaching any more games, but when I called around and got a unanimous “of course we’re playing” vibe from the families, I had little choice. We were allowed to pick up three additional players from our league from teams who weren’t invited, bringing our roster size up to ten. I took two kids from the Nets: the speedster who gave us so many problems during the season, and their three-point shooter who could also help out on the boards. I called their homes and the kids and their families were elated at having been selected. I also took a versatile player from the Bucks, then called a couple of practices in advance of the weekend tournament.
We had a blast. Got in a couple of practices with a full court, still drilled on the fundamentals, and now I had more reinforcements to play the faster tempo that I preferred. And we had ample time to scrimmage. I went with the two-unit system (copied from Hubie Brown) and everyone would play a decent number of minutes. And my original seven seemed to get their mojo back. The practices were sharp. We were ready, but with little knowledge of the quality of opposition, I had no idea what we were ready for.
A couple of days before the tournament, one of the organizers, who also had a team in our 10-and-under division but was coaching a team from outside our league calls me at home. This is the same guy who suggested I learn to act more like a coach. I guess he was calling to shoot the breeze about the tournament, so I used the opportunity to find out more about some of the other participants. Looking at the bracket, we’d match up against each other in the second round if we both won our first games, and he told me point-blank that we’d have no shot at winning that game as he was bringing some of the area’s best 10-and-under talent from east of Atlanta.
THE INVITATIONAL TOURNAMENT
That didn’t bother me. I can’t remember where our first opponent was from (I believe they were from South Georgia), but I do remember them having to travel quite a distance to get to our gym. We played them on a Friday night and they offered little resistance as we beat them with little difficulty, and we got major help from the players we picked up; they fit right in. I felt kind of bad for their kids as their parents were screaming at them to play harder, when our players were simply quicker, getting every loose ball and running fast breaks off misses and turnovers.
So of course, our second-round game was the following morning against the team we had no shot at beating. I didn’t tell my kids what the other coach had said–not sure how “blackboard material” works with fifth-graders–but you can generally tell in warmups if your players feel like they have a chance at winning a game, even at that age. And the Bullets looked confident, practically flying through their pre-game drills.
If there’s one game I can point to where a team I coached got the benefit of a referee’s whistle, it was this one. The speedy kid we’d picked up from the Nets got the ball twice early in the game, drove hard to the basket and plowed into a defender who had clearly established position, and both times the referee called a block. We were onto something, so I told the kid to keep going to the basket. And he ended up scoring a chunk of our points from the free-throw line and getting the other team in some serious foul trouble. Meanwhile, their coach was going nuts on the referees and nearly got tossed from his own tournament. My second-rounder, fully recovered from his asthma-related illness, had the best game I ever saw him play, and my fifth-rounder surprised us all by hitting a couple of three-pointers. We won by over 10 points and earned a spot in the championship game.
I don’t remember many details about the championship game, but it was later in the same day as the semifinal game, and I remember being mentally drained and also making a tactical error–one of many I’d make that season– by burning my timeouts too early and not having one at the end of a very close game when we needed it. If anyone else noticed, they didn’t say anything to me about it. We finished second in the tournament and the kids walked away with these gigantic trophies. Took away the sting of having to turn in those uniforms, I guess.
A FINAL ANALYSIS OF SEASON ONE
Overall I had fun, was glad I decided to get involved, felt good that I was doing something productive and felt I’d made strides in terms of communicating with the kids, giving encouragement, and I saw each of the kids improve as the season progressed. I had no real issues with the parents, and actually became very good friends with the father of my first-round pick and ended up as a regular at the church he attended for awhile. He just couldn’t convince me to join the choir.
I felt proud that we’d finished with the best regular-season record in the league and though we flamed out in the double-elimination tournament and lost to the very last person/team I wanted to lose to, we qualified for the district tournament and came very close to winning the invitational tournament. Not bad for the first year.
I reconnected with Bullhorn after the season, we attended a couple of Hawks’ games at the Omni and I picked his brain. He razzed me about knocking us out of the playoffs, but beating him with four players was something I’d always be able to hold over his head.
At the same time, I had a lot to learn about X’s and O’s at this age level. If I was going to continue to do this, I’d have to find some coaching clinics somewhere. My team performed well, but I finally had to admit that working as an assistant would have been the better route. Even though I had committed to individual player development, there were times where I was slow to making in-game adjustments, and those late-game situations made my palms sweaty.. I also had rabbit ears–even though the stands were right behind us I was hearing things I wasn’t supposed to hear. One of the staffers told me during the tournament, “Just coach your game, don’t worry about the comments.” Helpful advice.
I also surprised myself with how hard I was taking losses. I was taking these games home with me, replaying them in my head, second-guessing myself. It’s not why I got into this. Teaching, encouraging and seeing measurable improvement should have been enough, but it’s difficult not to get caught up in the competitive part of it. And, as I mentioned earlier, the intensity of the venom towards the referees, which is a learned behavior, was particularly bothersome.
Coming in totally naïve, what surprised me the most was how hard some of the kids took losing, especially the more experienced ones. While some would just shrug losses off, others would go into shell or throw a small tantrum while others would cry. And towards the end of the season even some of the less experienced players took losing hard. It almost changed the way I approached things, but learning to lose was every bit as important as winning. Heck, I was still learning and I was in my twenties.
Finally, I realized that were I to continue as a youth basketball coach, I’d definitely have to work on my endurance and stamina. I would run with the kids during practices without too much difficulty, but even before we went to the district tournament, I was mentally and physically exhausted, and it might have been evident during practices and late-season games perhaps to the point of impairing in-game judgement. Without question, even kids at that young age can pick up those signals.
After I having some time to reflect on the first season, I had pretty much made up my mind that I would definitely continue working with kids as time permitted, but I wasn’t so sure about doing it in an athletic setting. Too intense. My preference was for something a lot calmer. Maybe I’d go back to my original idea of doing some tutoring. I had some time to think about it over the warm weather months, but I was strongly leaning towards letting the basketball thing go.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was just getting started.
NEXT: THE BEST AND THE WORST
