Imagine you have dreams of making it in basketball. Every game you say, “Coach, let me in to play. I can do this.” You practice outside of normal practice. Posters of NBA all-stars line your room. Daydreaming of going to Duke or Youngstown to play ball is common. You see life as a series of free-throw lines. You walk in stride, timing an imaginary basketball bouncing as you walk from place to place.
The coach never really lets you play as much as you’d like, but you get some game in and it’s a rush when you see your opponents and your teammates hustle back and forth. The sound of squeaking sneakers puts you at ease. For you, whistles stop time.
At the end of the season, the coach singles you out and tells you that you are getting a special award and to be prompt at the festivities.
Your thirteen-year-old-mind is spinning with esteem.
At the pizza parlor, or school gym, your coach hands out awards to the other players: most rebounds, highest average score, best defender.
Finally, in front of your classmates and parents, this happens:
All this kid wanted to do was play ball, but somehow we can almost see the results of this one asshole coach’s remarks and gestures. The kid no longer loves the game, or every time he plays it, all he can see is the embarrassment reflected in the eyes of his peers.
As for the head coach? “The Pleasantville Board of Education voted Tuesday night to fire Pleasantville Middle School coach James Guillen.” It’s up to the courts now to decide whether or not the board has the right to fire Gullen, but I don’t think he can coach basketball anytime soon. As for the kid?
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