Funny Guy Friday... O Captain, My Captain...

      Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So, I married a Funny Guy!
     When Matthew, who is now 11, was six years old, he decided to join a baseball team. I was more than happy to coach.
     Before Cheryl and I were married, I had coached some very good 12-year-old teams for several years, and I had continued to coach right up until Matthew was about two or three years old. I had stopped coaching because, at that time, we had two kids and neither one was playing ball. So when he signed up at age six, I was more than happy to jump back into the coaching game.
     I remember that first practice, when Matthew was the only boy... or girl (that's right, I said girl)... who knew how to catch, or throw, or even how to hold a bat. After practice, Cheryl told me that the parents thought I was so very patient. Really? Because I am ready to put my head through the car window. 
     Fortunately, I refrained from concussing myself, and our team, The Bees, had a successful year. Having said that, we did have our moments.
     There was one little girl named Emily who was not very good, and was not very interested in being at the field or listening to me. She also wore a skirt to every game. When I gave my post-game talks, I always pointed out what each player had done well, and I made up game superlatives for the kids. We had best hit, best cheerer (I made that word up), coolest hat (the brim was the key), best listener, most bubble gum chewed, fastest runner, etc, etc.
     My girl Emily always won for best skirt on the team. She was happy with that, but that was about all that pleased her. Most games we would find her playing with her nanny on the playground across from the field. By the way, Emily's nanny was the best nanny on the team. Anyway, at the end of the year, I was sure that Emily would be happy to be done with the season, and done with me. I was surprised when she came up to me after the last game, and looked at me, and threw her arms around me, and started to cry, and told me that I was the best coach she ever had. Apparently, Emily was paying attention during the season.
   This brings me to my other son Noah's seven-year-old basketball team that I am presently coaching. We had our first practice this week, and I think I am in for quite an adventure. On the way to the gym, Noah and I had the following conversation:
Noah: Dad, am I going to be the team captain?
Me: No, I would not say that. I haven't even met the kids on the team yet, and we probably will not have captains.
Noah: Yeah, yeah, but if we did have captains, I would be the captain, right?
Me: No, I would not say that. Just because you are my son, it does not mean you are anything special, just my son.
Noah: Yeah, I get that. But just so we know, I would be the team captain.
Me: Noah, if I did have a captain, I would have a different one for each game.
Noah: Okay, so the first game, I will be captain.
Me: YES, YES. YOU ARE THE CAPTAIN.
Noah: I thought so. 
   
     On my way out the door, Cheryl had reminded me to remember that this would probably be the first time most of these kids had ever played basketball, so I should start at the beginning.
     I had already figured that we should start with dribbling, then passing, and then some defense. I had also settled on a coaching style that the kids could relate to.
     For example, I explained to the kids that we were going to learn a cool dance called the Funky Crab. This is when you get into a nice crouch on the balls of your feet with your arms out like a crab and you step and slide like a crab. This dance has the same moves you use on defense.
     As I was showing the kids the dance, our team captain raised his hand and wanted to know if we could pinch players like a crab would do. No, Noah. I explained that we play defense by moving our feet and not by reaching and grabbing with our hands. This led another player to point out that crabs don't have feet. Good point---now be quiet.
     Moving on, I explained to the kids that we were bumble bees and that the key (the area of the court under the basket from the baseline to the foul line) was our beehive, and we needed to protect our honey. The basket was the honey, and the other team was full of bears trying to get our honey. Again, Captain Noah's hand shot up, and he wanted to know if the basket was the honey or the hive. The honey. "Then how do the bears get to our honey way up there?" he asked. Our captain was getting to be a little bit annoying. By shooting the rock  up at the basket. "Does it have to go through the basket for them to get the honey." YES, YES. IT DOES! 
     Now that we had that resolved, we decided to take advantage of the fact that we had the whole gym to ourselves, so we scrimmaged. This was an opportunity to get the kids used to going in the opposite direction when there is a change of possession. Sounds simple, but when you usually only practice on a half court, they never get to switch sides.
      I must say that they did pretty well, but they sometimes would forget to dribble. One little guy took one dribble and then tucked the ball under his arm and ran the full court, as if he were a running back; and then he took a shot. His dad tried to explain to him that he had to dribble; the boy insisting all the while that he had. One dribble, seventy feet. Very impressive strides for a seven-year-old. I could hear little Alan Iverson: Dribble. You're talking about dribble. I don't need no stinkin' dribble!
     After practice, on the drive home, I asked Noah how he thought things had gone. He advised that one of the girls on the team likes him. Really? How do you know that? "She kept following me and kicking at my heels." That could mean she doesn't like you, and wants to beat you up! "Dad, she can't do that. I am the captain."
     When we got home, I sent out an email for our second practice this coming week, and one parent replied that their family may be out of town, but would be there if they were back in time. She then thanked me, adding that after just one practice, her son thought I was "the best coach ever."
     Really? Hmmm.
     Sorry Noah, looks like we found ourselves a new captain.