Memoirs of an Old Ball Coach

Part 2: What Have You Done for Me Lately?

By Coach Chuck Banks

There is an old saying in coaching:

When you’re winning, it’s because you have great players. When you’re losing, it’s because you have bad coaches.

Coaching has been this way for as long as I can remember.

Win a bunch of games and everybody talks about how talented the team is.

Lose a couple and suddenly everybody in the bleachers has a better offensive scheme, knows who should be playing quarterback, knows who should be getting the ball and knows exactly what the coaches should be doing.

Welcome to the “What Have You Done for Me Lately?” world.

Or, as I like to call it:

WIFM — What’s In It For Me?

Somewhere along the way, we have lost sight of what high school athletics is supposed to be about.

We’re Building People

What folks don’t always understand is the incredible amount of time and commitment that goes into running an organization designed to foster a positive culture and help build great young men and women who will eventually enter the world on their own.

That’s the job.

Yes, we want to win.

Hell yes, we want to win.

Nobody spends the hours coaches spend preparing just hoping everything turns out okay.

But if all we’re doing is teaching kids how to win football games, then we’ve missed the entire point.

Football can teach lessons that last a lifetime.

Life isn’t fair.

Sometimes you’re going to get knocked flat on your back.

Sometimes you’re going to work your tail off and somebody else is going to get the opportunity.

Sometimes you’re going to fail.

Sometimes the official is going to make a call you disagree with.

Sometimes you’re going to do everything right and still lose.

Then what?

You get up.

You fight.

You claw.

You work.

And eventually, you find a way to succeed again.

That’s football.

That’s also life.

Coaches Don’t Suddenly Change

Here’s something I’ve learned over the years.

Coaches don’t suddenly become different people because the scoreboard changed.

The same coach who was praised after a championship-caliber season didn’t suddenly forget everything he knew about football because his team struggled the next year.

But sometimes the outside world begins to see him differently.

And that’s where things can get difficult.

I’ve watched young coaches fight that outer battle while simultaneously fighting an inner battle.

Am I doing this right?

Am I reaching these kids?

Should I change what I believe in?

Am I letting everybody down?

Is this worth it?

I’ve been there.

And when I see young coaches going through it now, it hits a tone inside me that can make me rethink everything about this profession.

Because I know what they’re feeling.

The Sacrifice Nobody Sees

My family has shared me with a whole lot of great kids over the years.

And I mean shared me.

People see the coach standing on the sideline.

They don’t necessarily see the spouse eating dinner without him.

They don’t see the kids waiting for Dad to get home.

They don’t see birthdays, evenings, weekends and summers rearranged around practices, meetings, film and games.

There was a birthday for my daughter Kat when I realized just how much of that time had passed.

For once, I was home.

No practice.

No meeting.

No game preparation pulling me in another direction.

I could simply be Dad.

Those moments make you think.

Because coaches’ families serve too.

They don’t wear the headset.

Their names aren’t printed in the program under “Coaching Staff.”

But they sacrifice right alongside us.

Sometimes those rose-colored glasses we all wear don’t allow us to see those sacrifices.

Or maybe people simply don’t know.

Our Families Hear It Too

I’ve been called a bum.

I’ve been called a know-nothing.

I’ve been called plenty of other things that don’t need to be printed here.

I could take it.

That’s part of putting the headset on.

What hurt was when the people I loved had to hear it.

Friday night football game.

Tuesday night basketball game.

Sitting in the stands while somebody is ripping apart their husband, father, son or friend.

That was different.

That was like pouring salt directly into a wound.

The coach might have developed thick skin.

His wife shouldn’t have to.

His children shouldn’t have to.

His parents shouldn’t have to.

We as a society can do better.

Sometimes we need to put our feet in somebody else’s shoes before we open our mouths.

Hold Your Head High, Coach

Friday night, I saw something that reminded me of all of this.

I saw Coach Derek Doherty.

I’ve seen that look before.

Hell, I’ve worn that look before.

The nerves of a Friday. The weight of expectations. The responsibility of carrying a program where everybody seems to have an opinion about what you’re doing.

There have been times recently when I’ve seen him walking through the hallway looking toward his feet.

I wanted to grab an old-school neck roll, strap the damn thing around him and tell him:

Hold your head up, Coach.

Then Friday night I saw something different.

I saw the grin.

I saw what looked like a release.

I saw that softer side of the monster within—the competitor who pours so much of himself into the job finally getting a moment to enjoy it.

Coaches need those moments too.

Let Kids Make Mistakes

There is another piece of this that bothered me throughout my coaching career.

Coaches constantly work to establish an environment where it’s okay to make mistakes.

Think about that.

We’re asking teenagers to perform in front of hundreds or sometimes thousands of people while making split-second decisions against another group of teenagers actively trying to make them fail.

Mistakes are going to happen.

They need to happen.

Because mistakes are how we learn.

Then Friday night comes, and sometimes the very environment we’ve spent all week building disappears.

A kid misses a block.

Someone screams from the stands.

A quarterback misses a receiver.

Here it comes.

A defensive back gives up a completion.

Somebody is yelling again.

Now that young man isn’t just thinking about the next play.

He’s thinking about the voice coming out of the stands.

That can absolutely limit growth.

If we’re going to tell kids that it’s okay to make mistakes, then the adults surrounding them have to allow them to make mistakes.

And For God’s Sake…

This old ball coach has one more request.

For God’s sake, please stop screaming:

“YOU HAVE TO BLOCK SOMEBODY!”

We know.

I promise you the offensive line coach has covered that particular concept.

And before screaming about what is definitely holding, what is definitely a flag, who absolutely blew an assignment or what defense the coach obviously should be running…

Maybe make sure you know the difference between a 4i and a 3-technique.

I’m having a little fun here.

But there’s a point behind it.

Football is complicated.

What looks obvious from Row 12 isn’t always what actually happened.

Maybe that guard didn’t miss his assignment.

Maybe the protection slid.

Maybe the quarterback made the wrong read.

Maybe the defense disguised something.

Maybe—and stay with me here—the other team’s kid made a hell of a play.

That’s allowed too.

Here’s an Idea

After the game, don’t immediately conduct a postgame press conference with your kid in the front seat of the car.

Don’t start breaking down the missed tackle.

Don’t ask why the coach didn’t call this play.

Don’t ask why somebody else got more carries.

Don’t explain everything the officials got wrong.

Go get some ice cream.

Sit down with your son or daughter.

And say six words:

“I love watching you play.”

That’s it.

Let the coaches coach.

Let the officials officiate.

Let the kids play.

And let yourself be Mom or Dad.

There will be plenty of time for everything else.

Because someday there won’t be another Friday night.

The pads will get turned in.

The jersey will hang in the closet.

The stadium lights will shut off.

And you’ll wish like hell you had one more night to sit in those stands and watch that kid play.

So enjoy it.

Support them.

Support the people trying to teach them.

Give young coaches room to grow.

Give young athletes permission to fail.

And remember that there are human beings underneath those helmets and headsets.

Do better.

Actually, let me change that.

Let’s all do better.

This old ball coach included.

And after the game?

Get some ice cream and tell your kid, “I love watching you play.”

Trust me.

They’ll remember that a whole lot longer than they’ll remember the score.

— Coach Chuck Banks

Memoirs of an Old Ball Coach — Part 2

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