Ross here this week, and with Thanksgiving a week away I decided to make this week about one of the middle school sports memories I am most thankful for: my eighth grade rec. league basketball season. I wasn't the team's star player, nor did we reach the championship game, but for my teammates and me, it was a unique experience we all appreciated.
Going into the season, I was prepared to spend my last year of organized basketball firing three-pointers from downtown and occasionally playing defense that involved more than haphazardly swiping at the ball. After the first practice, it was apparent that that would not be the case. Our coach, Sam, would not allow it.
Now, for those of you who played youth sports, you know that there are two main types of coaches. There is the hypercompetitive one who relies solely on his talented players, ignoring pitch counts and weaker players, since winning a Little League game is more important than a preteen's health or self-esteem. On the other side, there is the coach who is clueless about the game's score and forgets that coaching means more than just supervising the athletes.
Sam, however, was a different kind of coach. A high school junior who had to give up the game after his freshman year, he loved basketball and knew what it was like to be a young teenager.
There was one remarkable thing about our coach: He genuinely cared about how we all developed as players and teammates. For the only two players on our team who had any hope of playing high school ball, Sam taught the intricacies of the game, from pick-and-rolls to how to run a transition offense after a long rebound.
This extended to the rest of the team. Our biggest player, who was more of an offensive lineman than a basketball player, had been told to just get rebounds and look intimidating on previous teams. For Sam, he was a project, and a successful one at that. When Sam tried to teach him how to do a drop-step in the post, many people laughed it off as a waste of time - until he scored the game-winning basket over the best center in the league with that same move.
Sam was also quick to convert what happened on the court to life lessons. When one of our starters made his anger at being taken out of the game apparent for the umpteenth time, Sam gave him a quick talk about what being a part of team meant. By the second half, my teammate's grunts turned into high-fives when he was subbed out of the game.
What was most impressive about Sam's coaching style was his unfiltered faith in all his players. The best example was Nick, the smallest and quietest player on the team. Nick was undoubtedly the hardest worker on the team, yet he was not the most skilled. Even worse: On every other team he was on, he was always instructed to pass up any potential shot he was lucky enough to get his hands on. Every practice, Sam would have Nick practice a 10-foot baseline shot, and he would encourage Nick to fire away from that spot, even if he had sent it three feet over the backboard the previous play. When he finally made a shot, he did not sprint back on defense as he usually did. He headed to the sidelines to give his coach a high-five while the parents in the stands cheered and applauded.
After our last game, the players and their parents came to thank Sam one-by-one for a great, rewarding season. All of the adults remarked how shocked they were that one teenager could be such a strong source of guidance and encouragement. However, if you know my brother Sam, this comes as little surprise.
Ross Dember and Alex Schroeder are sophomores who have not yet declared majors. They can be reached at Ross.Dember@tufts.edu and Alexander.Schroeder@tufts.edu.
