Chapter 2 - Coach John and the Mullet Man - 5ft, 2 in

A rare shot of Coach John with the soccer team - Grade 6

The Muffins may not have been blessed with skill, but at least they had a bit of height.

The first tip off was in the air and our tallest player, Alyssa, gracefully leapt to meet the ball and tap it to Abby immediately behind her. The ball safely secured, Abby watched as her Muffin teammates sprinted down the floor to take up their positions near the basket. They spread out and formed a square, two at the foot of the key, two at the top. Coach Walters had apparently adopted an offensive strategy meant to hypnotize the opposition by having his players assume wide eyed, expectant expressions while standing absolutely still. Even with my limited knowledge of basketball I immediately recognized this as a brilliant ploy, from these positions the players could suddenly take off simultaneously, crisscrossing wildly through the key causing their checks to collide and leaving a Muffin wide open for an easy shot. This is not such a difficult game to figure out I decided.

Abby had the ball and also remained still, shrewdly sizing up the situation, not to be rushed into picking her line of attack. Her check had arrived and hovered dangerously in close proximity, arms outstretched and flapping like the wings of a frenzied flightless bird ready to steal the ball at any sign of weakness.

Abby made her decision. She pivoted away from her check. Instead of dribbling right away she surprised her check by cleverly continuing to pivot, making it difficult to figure out what direction she might take off in. She continued pivoting. And then more pivoting. It occurred to me that Coach Walters must have spent a considerable amount of his practice time on pivoting as I watched Abby spiral at increasing velocity approaching speeds heretofore reached only by the Tasmanian Devil himself. Her check took a cautious step backward.

Coach Walters was preoccupied with his clipboard, always planning his substitutions ahead of time to ensure equal playing time in accordance with the Steve Nash constitution. Had he looked up he would have seen four wide eyed and unblinking Muffins in a catatonic state around the key and one Muffin pivoting with such determination she was about to enter the fourth dimension. It was about then I realized this was not a deliberate offensive strategy. The Muffins were in a state of stunned confusion. This was not going to end well.

Dizziness finally started to kick in and Abby started to wobble. Her check stepped up, took the ball, and proceeded toward the Muffin's hoop. Abby, now free to move her pivot foot, reacted to defend and took off at a dead stumble. She had her opponent in her sights and may have caught her under normal circumstances but her dizzy spell had a detrimental effect on her gait, she trended to the right the whole way down the court so that by the time her opponent was busy finishing an uncontested lay up Abby had accidentally left the building through an open fire exit.

Once re-assembled the Muffins set about inbounding the ball. A quick pass in was captured easily by an opponent and was in our basket again. I decided to take a stroll to see what was happening on the adjacent court.

The scene in the game next to the Muffins stood in obvious contrast to what I had just seen. The first thing I noticed was Elisa bringing the ball up the court. She was running as fast as any kid would through a playground without the distraction of dribbling. Her eyes were up and dead set on the action happening in front of her. She arrived at the top of the key but didn't like what she saw so DRIBBLED WHILE STEPPING BACKWARD! Then she moved laterally to her right and then launched a pass on a fast and flat trajectory. I thought I'd seen natural skill on the soccer field but this was an athlete with raw talent at a whole new level. Lizzy, along with her teammates, had been in constant motion moving in predetermined patterns under the basket. Lizzy caught the ball in stride and headed for the hoop. There were people in her way but she did not slow down. Instead she widened her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and lowered her body while increasing speed. When she got near the hoop she rose up and crashed into her checks putting the ball up and off the backboard. As the ball went in I heard the whistle blow. She had drawn a foul and would go to the line for a free throw. That went in too. Coach John clapped his hands and then urged his team to get back and defend.

Okay. So maybe a two season head start would be more of a challenge for Abby and her Muffinmates to overcome then I thought. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the Muffins were off to a commanding 22-0 score against them. Coach Walters was looking at his watch and his clipboard. Abby and Maddy were on the bench giggling and pointing at something sticky and yucky that had affixed itself to the bottom of Abby's shoe. At least the Muffins didn't seem overly invested in the game's outcome.

Suddenly I heard something out of place. Something in the universe had shifted in a bad way. Raised voices. Threats were being uttered, and shouts from parents in the crowd could be heard. The volume of noise was going steadily up. It was happening behind me on the other court. A genuine kerfuffle seemed to have been ignited somehow.

Elisa was down on all fours wincing and gasping - an opponent was standing over her. I'd played enough sports to know what had happened. Elisa had been kicked in the ribs probably after diving for a loose ball. Of course when this happened to me it certainly wasn't in grade 6 when you're supposed to be too young to know what a cheap shot is. It was during a semi-important rugby game in grade 11 that featured a bunch of half-witted boys of considerable girth who nutured a spirit of meanness over the years and thought nothing of sinking their deadly cleats into an opponent if they could get away with it. I just laid there hoping for someone with morphine to come and end my pain. Unfortunately high school sports medical protocol does not dictate that morphine be the first response treatment for painful injuries incurred on the field of play, an obvious oversight that should be rectified immediately. Elisa could have stayed down and whimpered like I did, but instead she looked determined to regain her purchase and stare down her opponent. Attempts to right herself reminded me of Bambi trying to take her first steps but it was evident she was not going to stay down. Lizzy, who possessed more strength than three of her teammates combined, arrived, lowered herself, stuck out her tongue (this looked familiar) and in one motion hauled Elisa to her feet and stood by her side.

My brain can't process this. I suppose I'd seen a couple of schoolyard fights in grade 6 but these were usually between two boys that any one of us could have predicted would end up in a maximum security prison by grade 9 anyway. Nobody told me some of these wistful looking elementary school age girls could conceive the notion to kick an opponent while they are down. I would have to plan some serious meditation time to deal with this new reality that had so far eluded my vast worldly experience.

New problems were now arising. A scene was unfolding like a series of photographs that were being flashed at me like a slideshow. A good thing, this slowing of time, maybe it would give me an opportunity to react if I needed to. Soccer coach Steve arrived at my side also sensing the genesis of something ridiculous but dangerous.

Coach John reported to me later that he tried very, very hard to tactfully assert, in a manner not meant to provoke, his point of view to the opposing coaches. He had a player down as the result of a cheap shot, something had to be said. But he was determined to filter his words carefully, like the grown up he is. Coach John, glancing one more time at Elisa, composed himself, and diplomatically stated something like, "You Fuc*ing think I don't know what just happened! You coach your players that way on purpose don't you!"

Besides his choice of words, which sounded somewhat unfiltered to me, the fact that this accusation was made loudly enough to be heard by dead people seemed to have a dulling effect on the diplomatic tone he was initially going for.

The rib kicking seemed not to be in dispute, but the opposing coach decided his reputation was being called into question. The fact that he sported a mullet that Bobby Clark would have been proud of seemed to add to the threatening effect as he crossed the floor and jabbed his index finger in the air inches from Coach John's nose and shouted words that have become infamous:

"Alright John, I think we'd better take this outside!"

Coach Steve and I exchanged glances. Our first reaction was to laugh out loud. So that's what we did. We got two men almost 50 years old about to head outside and engage in a good old fashioned game of fisticuffs right here in the community centre parking lot because of an incident at a grade 6 girls basketball game. But as I laughed I realized I knew something that Mullet Man did not know.

You don't mess with Coach John.

Coach John has very simple DNA. Once you meet him, he becomes a friend for life. If you have a daughter that needs coaching then that's even better. Sure like anyone he appreciates the odd invitation for drinks or dinner, but he's not a high maintenance sort of friend. He asks for little and gives much in return. You would do well with a friend like Coach John. But he's not a three strikes and you're out type of guy either. If you cross him once, your friendship is likely over. But Mullet Man had not just crossed Coach John, he'd threatened him.

If you threaten Coach John, I believe he he would take great pleasure in killing you.

I don't know if Coach John has ever been in a physical fight. He stands well over 6 feet, is lean, athletic, and muscular. I get the sense he's always thinking one step ahead of everyone else, a good skill in general but very valuable in a fight. But the biggest problem would be that Coach John would likely fight like a caged animal. I'm not sure he'd know or care when to stop. They might not recognize anything but the Mullet when Coach John was decided the fight was over.

Except maybe Mullet Man had uttered his brave threat while banking on the fact that Coach John probably could not fight well today. Coach John had thrown his back out the week before making the whole scene look as comical as it should have been. He was pointing back at the Mullet Man alright, but he was stooped over like Ebaneezer Scrooge, dragging one leg behind the other when he walked, his face contorted in pain whenever something on his body moved. A courageous person, this Man of the Mullet.

There was little space between them now, so Steve and I moved in behind Coach John just in case he did end up absorbing a cheap shot which would no doubt spark a considerable melee that we would have to enter if only to push Mullet Man back and drag Coach John out by the ankles.

Turns out Coach John had no intention of fighting. He had already diffused the situation by pointing out to the Mullet Man at considerable volume that he had already made himself look like an idiot by proposing a brawl with a cripple, not to mention his team looked to everyone in the gym like a bunch of cheap shot artists. Mullet Man turned his back and walked back to his bench. Parents had arrived from the bleachers to collect their players and go home. This game was over.

I looked back toward the court where the Muffins had been playing. Their game had stopped as well but Coach Walters was actually looking up from his clipboard and must have seen the whole thing. He looked disappointed, like he just found out his best friend was the one who stole the cookie from his lunchbox. The score was 22-2, and I was disappointed that I had been so distracted by this sideshow I did not see that one lucky Muffin actually put an end to the shutout.

Abby's future in basketball looked bleak already. Unbalanced teams, some coaches with questionable motives, cheap shots, officials who are too young to keep order. Had we known then that the Muffins would post a perfect season of zero wins and twelve losses maybe we wouldn't have bothered coming back. We all filed out of the gym that night feeling numb and looking forward to the next soccer game where life's order would certainly be restored.

The one bright spot was that Elisa and Lizzy had demonstrated skill, determination to overcome adversity and a dedication to each other as teammates that seemed mature beyond their years. If she continued in this sport I hoped they would be on Abby's team someday.

Outside I saw a bunch of parents talking to a young man I had not seen before. People seemed to know him, and he was drawing quite a crowd. I walked closer. He was wearing a bright red golf shirt with a logo on the chest that I had not seen before.

A logo that would soon be on almost every athletic garment Abby owned.