Last Play....

Picture walking into your hometown coffee shop on a brisk October Monday morning, the walls adorned with timeless photos of past legends and newspaper articles of big wins. At a little corner booth sits the Monday Morning Quarterback Club giving their reviews of Friday night's game.  The conversation is full of "back when I played" and "these kids just aren't made the way they were when we were young" proclamations.  The coach should have ran the ball more,  played Big John's little brother, and faked the punt with 4 minutes left.  Everything was better "Back in the day."  And for them it probably was.  Those days will never die.  It was something special.  An innocent time where they were on top of the world with no responsibilities.  If the question was asked to them if they would ever want to relive those days, the answer would undoubtedly be "In a heartbeat."  I know mine would be.  The END was a forgotten, but certain absolute, as if those days would never end.  

As coaches, the saying "play every play as if it's your last" is used millions of times every year throughout the football world.  The end is never in sight, but hovering in the shadows waiting to appear.  I remember my last moments on a high school field very vividly.  State Quarterfinals in Rossville, KS.  As a quarterback in high school I had never fumbled the football, unless it was a fumbled snap.  Driving late in the game down by one point, a split-second changed all of that.  My last play as a quarterback ended as I watched an opposing player recover the football six inches from my face as my hands lay trapped beneath my body.  I'll never in my life forget that feeling.  Numb and helpless.  I had made the most crucial mistake in the most crucial time.  I had let down my teammates, my coaches, and our community.  As Rossville knelt the ball to end the game, I wandered away down to the other side of the field.  It was as if my legs gave out from under me.  I dropped a knee to the ground, and the tears soon followed.  It was OVER.  No more next play, next game, or even next year.  There was nothing left.  All of the summer weights, the film sessions, the practices, the team meals, and the bright lights....gone.  It was a stark and gloomy reality that stabbed deeper into me than anything I had ever experienced.  Nothing remains, but a few banners in the gym, a couple of trophies, and timeless memories.  

It took me a long time to get over that game.  Years in fact.  I had let down an entire community on one play.  Shattered dreams.  Broken hearts.  I couldn't understand why it had to happen that way.  I had dedicated EVERYTHING I had within my human power to that team.  I never took a play off.  I know in my heart that I gave every ounce of fiber in my body for that team.  How could it have ended that way? I feel as though now I have the answer to that question.  The realization that I have come to is that it was meant for me to know what that feeling is like...and to now pass that on to the young men who leave it all on the field on Friday nights.  Play as if there is no tomorrow, because when that last tomorrow comes, you'll never in your life have the ability to change what has happened, the effort you put in, or whether you squeezed every bit of enjoyment out of that moment in time.  It transfers to our daily lives.  It transfers to those moments with family and friends.  The moments you have spent reading this post I hope are useful moments in your life because you will never get them back.  Live like it's your last day. Never coach halfway. And PLAY like it's your LAST play...

As Fate Would Have It

We have all heard the terms that life is fragile, or like a vapor in the wind. It is here today & gone tomorrow.  These phrases to a young 6th grader at McCune Attendance Center were noted, but never realized, even long after they should have stuck like a knife in the chest.  Life in a big picture sense is never fully grasped at that age.  The implications of one single event never seem to be sketched out in the cognitive process. However, the course of life paints an ugly picture for me of what might have been, and leaves me with an undoubted spirit of gratefulness.

A father.... Superman to most kids.  The strongest person in the world.  He can't be outdone by ANY other dad.  Bulletproof.  Untouchable.  He could take on Hulk Hogan...and WIN. All of these are true thoughts of mine as a youth.  In my 6th grade basketball season, we were taking on Weir in our end of the year tournament.  Like all the other 6th graders I didn't really play in the A-games.  Those spots were filled by the 7th & 8th graders.  My parents never missed a game. EVER. Even though I was sitting on the bench.  So you can imagine my concern as the game started when I couldn't find my parents.  I quickly brushed it away because there is something on the farm that always goes wrong.  Probably, a cow having trouble calving. Sure. That was it.  As the game progressed, my parents remained absent.  Sure I was aware, but I was sure there was a good reason.   Definitely no reason to be worried.  As the game ended, we celebrated the victory, and the vibe in the locker room was positive as we were headed to the Championship game.  While we were changing, Greg Clawson, my best friend, asked me  where my parents were.  I responded that I hadn't a clue, and explained that it was probably some problem that I was glad I didn't have to help with.  As we exited the locker room, Greg's parents stood outside.  Bam. Immediately, I knew something was wrong.  Greg's father tried to break the news easily: "Clint, your father has been in an accident."  I can't really explain my thought process at that point.  I didn't get it.  I didn't grasp, or fully understand the severity of the situation.  He was going to be ok.  He had to be. He was Superman....

I'm sure my father can't even tell you the number of times he's had to deal with a momma cow and her calf.   He'd been doing it for twenty years.  Her endless grumblings, snorts, and aggressive attitude was just normal.  My father had put the calf in the barn.  This separation did not go over well.   It was her & my father in the corral, just the two of the them.  She caught and pinned Dad in the corner of the corral between the barn and the gate, took the flat of her head and rammed him into the corner.  Dad struggled to his feet where he was immediately struck again in the chest.  I'm not sure of the feeling, or thought process my Dad would have had at that time, but time had to have stood still.  Three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and lying there bleeding internally.  I'm sure the only thing going through his mind was: "I have to get out of here for my family."  That was just the kind of man he is.  I do believe in fate.  I believe in miracles. I believe in the Big Guy Upstairs.  There wasn't a whole lot of hope at that point for my father.  He was trapped with a beast that had him outweighed and was innately bent on destruction.  If he had tried to get up again, he would have been struck back to the mud. Hopeless...  But as fate would have it, he was lying in the only part of the corral where the gate was high enough he could squeeze under.  Dazed, bloodied, and in shock my father stumbled to his truck and laid on the horn hoping my mother would hear.  After a couple of minutes of endless honking, he stumbled into the house.  My mother, horrified, helped him into the bed where he laid bleeding until the helicopter arrived.  That moment, even visualizing what it would look like, is tough for me to think about.  My hero was broken, bloodied, and hanging on by a thread.  He was life-flighted to Joplin.  After going into shock several times and receiving massive amounts of blood, Superman fought through and survived.

The ugly picture is to think about the way my life would have been, had he not been in the one spot he could escape.  I could never have imagined looking up into the stands and hopelessly searching for the man holding a video camera wearing a Columbia-Blue, #12 mesh jersey.  The encouraging hugs after defeat.  The joyful embraces of victory.  His opinionated voice-overs on film.  A teenage boy without a role model.  No man of character to emulate.  At the time it happened, it never struck me the way it does now.  All of the moments we have shared since then... Playoff wins, sub-state titles, farm-talks, holidays, witnessing him with his grandsons and remembering that it used to be me riding that  John Deere with him or getting that piggyback ride.  Graduations, proms, and the congratulatory phone call after I got my first coaching job would have been without the greatest man I could ever hope to know.

Luckily for me, my life has been filled with all of those things.  That ugly picture does not exist, but just remember that life truly does only give you one shot.  One chance at every day to give it your best crack.  It may get you from time-to-time, but it can not hold you down because you live for more than just yourself.  You live for your friends, your family, and those who you don't even know you impact.  I'm thankful God see fit to give me my father for awhile longer to learn and grow from his example.  I thank God he lifted up that gate... :)

Entitlement

Is there a more relevant sign of the times than this word?  For me, there may not be a more disgusting word.  In all facets of society people demand that they have the "right" to whatever they seek.  We expect others to take care of problems that, for the most part, are brought upon by our own actions.  We throw our hands up expecting free handouts without putting in our share of the work.  

Ever read the book "The Little Red Hen?"  In this children's book is a beautiful depiction of how our society has become.  In the story, the little red hen is going through the process of planting, harvesting, grinding the wheat, and baking it into bread.  At each stage of the process, the little red hen asks the lazy dog, the sleepy cat, and the noisy yellow duck: "Who will help me?"  Each time the all refuse with a simple "Not I." When the time comes for the bread to be eaten, she asks: "Who will help me eat this bread?" Eagerly, they all reply: "I will!" The little red hen explains that none of the others had once put in any effort to get the end result, and therefore she would be the only one to eat the bread.  Luckily, this book was a staple in my household.

A personal story my good friend, David Dainty (Our head baseball coach at Southeast High School), shared with his baseball team one day in the infield last season, shows that distancing ourselves from this mental state of mind has its' rewards.  Our senior year of high school, we had what we would consider a pretty good basketball team.  We went 15-4, and clinched a sub-state title that year.  Coach Dainty, who had been out for his Junior season with an ankle injury, saw limited time on the court his senior year.  I'll be the first to tell you that he was a very good player, but we had MANY good players.  He wasn't always satisfied with the amount of playing time he received, but he never complained, even though he was a Senior.  This wasn't the case for the entire team.  CANCER- destroys, breaks down, attacks its' host body.  We had one of those on that team.  He complained bitterly and constantly about his "lack of playing" and that he was "undoubtedly better than the players on the court."  He was a "Senior." He "deserved" it.  Not only was this not done just amongst the team, it was known that he was unsatisfied throughout the student-body.  Why did he feel entitled?  What had he done to EARN that time.  I couldn't come up with a good answer.    His situation was dealt with sternly by the Coach and the team leaders, while Coach Dainty continued to be a supporting team member.  Coach Dainty never did quit that team. As for the CANCER, you could say we gave it chemotherapy.  The story closes with Coach Dainty on the infield last spring.  He never quit, never felt that he was "entitled" to something. He now stood in front of his team as a leader.  The man who believed in him enough to give him that opportunity, was none other than his ol' basketball coach that he never gave up on...

How do we change this?  Well, it starts with our leaders.  Parents, teachers, coaches, and government officials.  We are to blame. Not the kids.  Next, our leaders must work TOGETHER.  It seems that parents, coaches, and community leaders are always out to get each other.  Continuity and the pursuit of common goals of personal responsibility will allow us to change an attitude of ENTITLEMENT into FULFILLMENT.

BELIEVE

Everyone has something unique in life that makes them tick. Art, music, sports, education, agriculture, etc.  For me it has always been pursuit of the improbable.  The stories I enjoy the most are those of obstacles overcome, deficits erased, and the overshadowed bursting into greatness.  When it seems someone is down & out, but is relentless in the pursuit of their passion.  Those are the reasons I wanted to become a coach.  As coaches we are not given the opportunity to relent.  We don't have that option because it is not in our DNA.  There is a certain chromosome that refuses to let us press the "Stop" button.  When everything is stacked up against us, we don't give in. We grab the hand next to us, and we push through.  That is why I decided to title this blog as such.  Never give up. Never give in. Always BELIEVE...

"Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you respond to it." - LOU HOLTZ