The Knute Rockne of little league football

There’s an irony that comes with being busy: when you’re busy, all you want is to have more time to yourself, and when you’ve got too much time to yourself, all you want is something to keep you busy. Well, I graduated college almost two years ago and since then I’ve been making up for four years of non-stop busyness by wasting away the last two years.

But watching movies and playing video games is only fun for so long, especially when you don’t have any roommates to enjoy those things with. So a month ago I volunteered to help coach a little league football team. I figured that I love football, and I’m sick of how much free time I have, so why not give my free time to football?

I’m working with the 14-15 year olds. Practice started two weeks ago. When I showed up to the first practice, I was the only coach there. The team mom was there getting the guys names and numbers and said, “Well, looks like you’re in charge.” I wasn’t expecting this at all. I imagined just walking into a structured system and helping out where they could fit me in. I’ve never coached before, so I just did the first thing that came to mind: I sent them to run laps while I tried to put together an impromptu practice schedule.

By the time they were done running the head coach finally showed up. He seemed about as organized as he was punctual and to cover up for his lack of preparation, he’d yell at the kids. Sounds bad, right? Well at least he’d talk to THEM. He didn’t even acknowledge me. I walked up and introduced myself and he told me his name then walked away. I speed up to keep pace with him and asked, “So coach, what can I do to help you?” All he said in return was, “Nothing right now.”

I wanted to just tell him I’d go home then and that he could call me if he ever got the team organized enough to use some assistants, but I thought better than to burn a bridge, even if he was lighting fires from his end. Instead I just stood back and let him do his thing… which was nothing. Pretty soon a former coach showed up and was both nice to me and demanding of the players. He said he couldn’t coach and that the lazy guy would be the head coach.

Well, I’ll make this story short by saying that when the league and the parents of the players found out that this loser was the head coach, they sent someone else to take over, and Coach Chad Cook has been in charge of this team ever since and I’ve LOVED working with him.

“Winds whisper of high hopes; victory is in the skies.

A season awaits with glory in her eyes.

One joins with many on summer’s green field.

Time to strive, to dare, for all not to yield.”

We’ve now had two weeks of practice two hours a day, six days a week. It’s been hot. It’s been hard. It’s been hectic. The prick has since disappeared (which was probably inevitable anyway) and with him gone, we’ve finally been able to push these kids and get them conditioned and disciplined to the point that they actually look and play like a team.

“The palms of you hands will thicken,

The skin of your cheeks will tan.

You’ll grow ragged and weary,

But you must do the best you can.

Do you fear the force of the wind,

The slash of the rain?

Go face them and fight them.

Be savage again.”

Since I don’t really have any experience coaching, I have to fake it pretty often. I do a pretty good job of looking like I know what I’m doing and of acting tough, but one of those first few days of practice was very cold and very wet. I was just wearing shorts and a tank top. If you’ve seen me in cold weather, you know that I don’t handle it very well. Within a few minutes my teeth start to chatter and my body starts to shake. It wasn’t freezing that day… had I been playing it would have felt nice, but I was coaching, which mostly just consists of standing and shouting. The rain drenched me, and then the winds froze me and my body started to shake uncontrollably. Of coarse, I didn’t want the team to see that, so I just tried to keep moving to the point that they couldn’t see my shivers. I felt like Micheal J. Fox, how he over exaggerates his movements to mask his Parkinson’s disease.

“Each new [Saturday] met a brand new challenge,

rich with new opportunities. A time for achievement,

a time for purpose, a time for glory.”

We’ve been practicing for two weeks now and just had our first (practice) game last Saturday. Cook coordinates the offense and I have the defense. We’ve spent so much time in practice focusing on the offense that neither the team nor I was all that familiar with the defensive plays, but we ran through a few of them just before game time and of our 12 plays, we had about 9 of them down pretty well.

When I say “plays” I really mean different blitz packages. We do everything out of a 5-2 base and all our different plays are just different ways to send different men toward the quarterback. By the time the defense took the field we were already half way through the first quarter. I had organized the plays into ones I could call for long, medium, and short yardage situations.

“‘Blitz’ is definded as a sudden savage attack. It is indeed all this. The theory is simple: send more bodies at the quarterback than his blockers can absorb. The effect is sure. The premise is simple. It’s a basic, primal confrontation, man to man. No excuses are offered, none accepted. From the right outside, from the left outside, from up the middle they come all with blood in there eyes, all with one idea: get the quarterback, ‘Get the man.’”

I wanted to keep things simple at first then work the tricker blitzes as the game went along. So the first play I called was just a base with no blitzes and I had the backs in zone pass coverage. Well, they ran it and our line stoped them for a one yard loss. So, with second and eleven I called another long yardage play but sent a line backer on a blitz. Well, he didn’t make the stop but his blitz scared the running back right into the arms of one of the line men. Now it was third and twelve. I called another long yardage play and sent in a double blitz. We stopped them right on the line of scrimmage. After the three and out they were forced to punt.

I’m by no means a Knute Rockne of little league football (I just used that title as an homage to the fantasy football post I wrote a year ago), but I really do enjoy the freedom to call plays that will put my players in a position to make the play. The opponents ran a lot of plays off tackle, so what do I do? I call a play sending the defensive tackles out on containment assignments and free up the out-side linebackers to blitz that ‘c’ gap. The play worked perfectly and the linebacker felt like a 14-year-old Dick Butkus. And it’s fun to get on a player’s case if you see him playing out of position, because you know that putting him in position will give him a better chance to make the tackle, and in turn, make his day.

My defense played perfectly, but I kind of felt bad for them. Some guys only play defense, and the defense was only on the field for three plays the entire first quarter. As the game went on, the time of possession continued to weigh heavily in our favor, so we had to rotate guys in on offense to get them some more playing time. But every time the defense took the field, the result was always a punt, fumble or interception. The opponents only ever crossed midfield once, and that all happened on one single play where a lucky receiver of theirs broke three of our tackles. But I was glad to see that all our defenders got a chance to be playmakers.

“All these years my goal’s been to come out here and

be nice and relaxed, but jeez, I’m a nervous wreck.”

I’ve wanted to try my hand at coaching for a while now and Saturday’s game was a great way to inaugurate my career. The 35-0 final score made it look like we had it all under control the entire time, and I’ll say that’s true for the players’ part, but I have to admit that I was a nervous wreck when that first defensive series began. After seeing my boys perform so well, I realized something: coaching isn’t necessarily about making perfect calls every play, it’s about preparing the players in practice so that they’re conditioned, disciplined, and focused during the game. Other than that, my only job is to call a play and let their athletic ability do the rest.

That first day of practice I was ready to quit, but I’m glad I endured an awkward evening, because now I’m a part of a team that works together and is fun to spend my evenings with. Who knows what our record will be at the end of the season… maybe that team from Murray that we played on Saturday was just a bunch of first-time players, but for this first-time coach, I can tell that it’s going to be the kind of thing that keeps me so busy, that by the time this season is over, I won’t be relieved to have free time to myself again, I’ll be sad to let it go. I’m having a lot of fun with these kids.

New job part three: Irony of Ironies

i·ro·ny ( ī' rə-nē)
n. An occurrence, result, or circumstance notable for an incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs.

Well, I was told last week at work that they’re moving me from the creative department BACK to the media buying department. I’m not happy about it at all, but I’ll be honest, if I were the one in charge, I’d have done it months ago… there’s just no work load in the creative department. Well, ironically, there’s no work load in the media buying department, but they seem to think that that department will be picking up the pace in a month or so and they want me back over there to help with it.

They even hired an additional buyer. He’s sort of a nerdy kid, tall and clumsy looking (imagine Goofy with red hair and a goatee). Well, he’s a pretty annoying guy (for example, earlier this week he told EVERYONE in the office about some pansy little “I love you” thing that his girlfriend did for him earlier this week), but I’m not too put off by him, because as of yet, I haven’t really had to be around him much, but ironically, Andrew (the guy I REALLY can’t stand) came to me to vent about how much he can’t stand this new guy.

What’s ironic about it is the way Andrew is responding to the annoyance. Andrew told me his plan for dealing with the new guy. He said he’d let the new guy go to lunch at noon and he’d wait to take his lunch until 1. He seemed so pleased with himself when he was explaining the genius of his plan to me, “See, that way I get not just a one hour break from him at lunch, but TWO.” Somehow as I sat there trying to look like I was actually listening, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d heard that sort of a concept somewhere before.

What’s even more ironic about it all is that bind it puts me in. The perfect plan I’d been playing since January ’04 is ruined. Now I have to decide whether I want to eat early and put up with the annoying new guy, or eat late and put up with the exasperating old guy.

Either way, I don’t think it will be that big of a deal. The fact that I’m being pushed back into media buying makes me feel pretty determined to find a new job sometime within the next few months. I just resigned my rental agreement at my apartment and only committed myself through the end of November. I’ve got other commitments that will keep me here through October for certain, but after that, I’m getting outta here the first chance I get.

Hmm, kinda ironic, don’t you think, that my post entitled “new job part three” is ultimately the catalyst that will take me to another new job, one that has nothing to do with the new job that this entire post was all about?

Glaige Victorious

“Why Echardt, you ought to think about the future.”
“…You’re an A-1 nut boy and Grissom knows it!”

This time last year, if you would have told me that within the next twelve months the Boston Red Sox would be World Series Champs and my all-time bro D$ would be married, I’d have told you that you were of your nut a mile and a half. But last October the Sox won the Series and last Friday my bro tied the not.

“What’s that?”
“It’s the insurance damage waiver for your beautiful new car.
Will you need collision coverage?”
“Yes.”
“Fire?”
“Probably.”
“Personal Injury?”
“I hope not, but accidents do happen.”
“They frequently do with you.”
“Is there any other protection I need?”
“Only from me 007, unless you bring that car back in pristine order.”

Dustin and Kiley are both from the Portland area, which is only a three hour drive from home, so I flew into Seattle and met up with Mom and Dad, who just met me at the airport, gave me a car and sent me on my way. It felt like a secret agent hand-off, all that was missing was a briefcase with a hand-cuff attachment and rocket launchers installed behind the headlights.

“If it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go.”
“Don’t worry, more people die in cars than on planes.”

I had stayed up late the night before packing for the trip, and I woke up early that morning for a regular day at work. I worked through lunch so I could leave work an hour early in a rush to make my flight, which meant that besides the airline peanuts, I hadn’t eaten since 7:30 am. My plane got in at about 9 pm (but that was pacific time, so as far as my mountain-time stomach was concerned, it was 10 pm). A drive-through meal from Wendy’s kept me awake for the first 30 minutes of my drive, but once that was gone I had nothing to break up the monotony accept for the occasional prayer asking for angelic visitations to keep me awake.

“What’ll it be Emmit, the usual?”
“No, I’m gonna need something much stronger than that tonight.”
“Sarsaparilla?”

I rolled in just before midnight. Under any normal circumstances I would have hit the hay then and there, but this was my bro’s last night as a single man. We didn’t exactly do the traditional bachelor party thing, but we DID do the traditional Heath and Dustin thing: delicious snacks, a good movie, and dash conversation.

“Young [man], this is your last night in the nursery,
and that’s my final word on the matter!”

We ate chips and salsa, chugged bottles of Thomas Kemper root beer (a Northwest original), and watched Peter Pan. It was the perfect end to a perfect bachelorhood. Peter Pan epitomizes so much of who Dustin and I have been and every time we watch it (together or separately) it spawns conversation.

“So, your adventures are over.”
“Oh no! To live… to live would be an awfully big adventure.”

We only got about 20 minutes into the movie before conversation took over. We talked about how even though he’s getting married and moving on, it’s not the end of our adventures. I think too many people (single people, mostly) think that once you’re married, you stop being who you were when you were single, you stop doing the things you did when you were single, and you stop seeing the friends you saw when you were single. Now, that may be true for life after kids (we’ll see what happens when that sort of thing comes about)…

“This has all happened before, and it will all happen again.
But this time it happened in [Portland].”

…but we realized that night (as we’ve done about a hundred times before) that the reason Sir D of Narrow and the Twelve Twenty are so close, isn’t out of convenience, in fact, over the past year, we’ve become closer DESPITE the increasing inconveniences of distance and lifestyle, but because we relate to each other so well. And as the events of that weekend unfolded, I could tell that that closeness didn’t change. I wasn’t the one getting married, but D$ and I are so much the same that as I watched him put up with taking pictures and greeting people in the reception line and stuff, I could tell how sincerely fulfilled he was and I couldn’t help but feel it too.

But not everything that weekend unfolded as planned. Friday morning was kind of chaotic as everyone was getting ready for the 11am ceremony. I knew that everyone had to be there early, so I waited to be the last one to get in the shower. By the time I got out of the shower, everyone was gone. Dustin’s brother had given me some simple directions on how to get to the temple, so I was sure I could make it. Dustin’s sister said it was a ten minute drive, so I left 15 minutes early.

“I thought you said Marcus had a head start...”
“Are you kidding? You know I made that up:
Marcus got lost once in his own museum.”

No matter how short a drive, or how simple a route, I have an uncanny ability to get lost. Dustin’s brother Spencer says that if he had a mutant power, it’d be a quick ‘alt-tab’ finger (to switch from window to window on a computer screen), well, my mutant power would be getting lost. I followed the directions exactly: “just head to I-5, head north and get off on the Lake Oswego exit.” I did just that, only I got onto I-5 north of the Lake Oswego exit, so I keep looking and looking and just kept going farther and farther north.

As soon as I spotted the river that forms the state line I realized I’d gone to far. I turned around and tried to race back. By this time I had five minutes to get there, but traffic was so thick that I couldn’t go much faster than 40 mph. Finally I found the Lake Oswego exit, and it wasn’t until I found my self on the WRONG side of the Lake that I realized it wasn’t the exit I was supposed to take. I called my Mom to see if she could get directions on line, but that just made me more frustrated, so I got off the phone with her. By this time I was 15 minutes late, 20 miles up the wrong road, and so emotional with frustration that I was cursing words that ought to have disqualified me from entering the temple even if I ever DID find it.

Well, I finally found it at about 11:30. I guess they waited and waited for me, and finally gave up and started it only seconds before I got there. I could just imagine how frustrating it must have been for Dustin and Kiley—you wait all your life to get married and then when you’re finally ready, something happens to force you to wait a little longer. The same kind of thing happened to me after my mission: after two years and an hour and a half flight, we couldn’t touch down at Sea-Tac Airport because of fog so we just circled for an hour or so—I was so ready to be home that I contemplated just grabbing a parachute and jumping for it.

“Hmm, got lost once in his own museum, huh?”
“Uh huh.”

A Mormon wedding only lasts about 45 seconds, but they take those 45 seconds VERY seriously, so they had the doors locked when I got there, then as soon as the sealing was complete they opened the doors again and I tip-toed in and took the empty seat. I half expected the sort of elation as if Elias were to finally show up and take his reserved seat at a Jewish family’s Passover feast, but everyone seemed pretty calm—in fact, nobody seemed too surprised that I’d gotten lost or been late or any of that stuff—almost like they half expected it of me. But there was a collective sigh of relief from everyone (they were probably just glad to see that I didn’t die in a car accident).

I was so emotional at the thought of missing my bro’s wedding, and so ashamed for having forced them to wait that I couldn’t even look at Dustin. After a Mormon 45 second wedding, the bride and groom stand by the door and are congratulated by all in attendance as everyone leaves the room. I was one of the last to leave. I came to Kiley first. My eyes were kind of puffy and all my shaky voice could muster was a sheepish, “...Sorry I’m late.”

When I got to Dustin I couldn’t even speak. This is the guy who I’ve always counted on to be there with me through all the worst of the worst dating experiences. This is the guy who I could talk to about why dating was stressing me out because he was always going through the same thing I was going through. This was the guy who understood and shared my concern that maybe I’d set my standards too high and that the kind of girl I’ve been looking for didn’t exist. And now he’d found a girl who proved that all our stubborn clinging to those high standards weren’t just a bit of sillyness.

“Old… Alone… Done for!”

That wedding, that moment, that man hug was the culminating event of all the sh#t Dustin and I have been through together and I was pretty overwhelmed by it all. Maybe what overwhelmed me was the idea that HE’D found a girl and proven HIS commitment to HIS expectations, but that I was still alone and unfulfilled.

Maybe it was just to lighten things up, and maybe it was because he could sense my worry… but after a burley man hug, the kind which is only had and understood between the truest of bros at the most significant of times, Dustin put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I want you to take care of Neverland when I’m gone, even the Neverbugs.” I laughed and held up my fingers to show just how small Neverbugs could be and finished the quote saying, “Little ones.” Those were the only two words I said to my best friend at his wedding.

The cool thing about how Dustin and Kiley did things was that they didn’t just run off to the nearest Super 8 Motel so they could consummate their marriage as soon as humanly possible. They came back to Dustin’s Parents’ place and just hung out with family and friends the rest of the day until the reception that night. So, even though “little ones” was the only thing I said at D Narrow’s wedding, it wasn’t the only thing I said on his wedding day. We had a lot of time to just hang out and talk, the same way we always have done… the same way we always will.

“You think its over because of the [new family] that I have.
It’s not over. This isn’t a story. This isn’t the end.”

After the reception that night, as I watched my old friend drive away with his new wife, I realized that even though our lives and our circumstances may change, that somethings never will, like who we are… and the friends who were there with us during the tough times in life that made us who we are. And even thought I know I can’t rely on Dustin to always be going through the same dating woes I experience any more, I know I can look at him and his marriage and see it as proof that there’s no need for doubt; what I’m looking for is out there, and the Glaziers’ victory is the proof.

Poop breath

Some people in this world are the type who love everyone they meet and can only see the good in others. As commendable as that is, I don’t think it’s quite normal. Yet, equally as abnormal is my situation: I usally notice the bad in everyone I meet. It’s not like I look for the bad, I usually try to give people the benefit of the doubt that they’re just ordinary until something happens to make me either think more or less of the person. But neutrality can only last so long, and probability usually lies more in favor of spontaneous negative experiences. And even when your first impression of someone is positive, a powerfully negative experience with that person can often trump all preceding good experiences.

“Uhh! It smells like a skunk that came

out of the @ss of another skunk.”

There’s this guy that I work with who (personality wise) is one of my favorite co-workers, but I really don’t enjoy talking to him because he constantly has the world’s WORST poop breath. And by “poop breath” I mean that his breath literally smells like poop. It’s not onion breath, or garlic breath, or morning breath, or coffee breath, or smoking breath, or throw-up breath, or peanut butter breath… it truly smells like the man’s diet consists of nothing but fun-sized poop bars.

“Hey, everybody. I'm a stupid moron with an ugly face and a big butt
and my butt smells, and I like to kiss my own butt.”

What does bad breath say about a person? I know that were not supposed to judge others “by the color of their [breath], but by the content of their character,” but when something is so in your face, and so persistant and so potent, how can you expect your opinion of that person to NOT be effected? I mean, is this guy unaware of his horrendous breath? Is he not grossed out by his mouth’s flavor? Does his wife not notice it when she’s near him? If she does, then does she not care enough to help him with it? Or if he and his wife both ARE aware of it, are they so inconsiderate of others that they just don’t care if we have to smell it?

“It smells like puke from a mule been 'ruminating

on asparagus for two weeks.”

Well, I stumbled across an article today that opened my understanding to the true source of my friend’s problem: it’s because of the food he eats (and doesn’t eat):

Top Five Causes of Bad Breath
#4. Not enough carbs. You look great after four
weeks on Atkins, so how come you still can’t get a date? High-protein, low-carb
diets cause your body to burn stored fats for fuel instead of carbs and can lead
to a condition called ketosis. “As fat burns, ketones build up in the body, and
some are released through breath,”explains Moloo. “Unfortunately ketones don’t
smell particularly good.” And bad breath trumps six-pack abs.

Top
Five Cures
#4. Eat some carbs. Apparently the only way to help the ketosis
caused by low-carb diets is … to eat some carbs. Moloo recommends fruits,
vegetables and whole grains over frosted doughnuts.

Well, if you met my friend, you’d know at first sight that he isn’t working on an Atkin’s-diet six pack, but if you ever eat out with him you’d learn that the man does NOT eat fruits or vegetables. He’s like a kid about them. He says they completely gross him out. Even fruit flavored candy he doesn’t like. All he eats is meat and junk food. So THAT’s the man’s problem: he suffers from a self-inflicted case of ketosis.

“He’s got to follow his own path, no one can choose it for him.”

The sad thing is that I think it may be a terminal case, because I’ve argued with him the dangers and unexperienced joys that come from eating fruits and vegetables, but he won’t budge. Besides my banter, his doctor told him that his diet is causing cholesterol problems, and that he has EXTREMELY high blood pressure. So at age 30, my friend is on a lipator prescription, and has breath so terrifying that he’s scaring his friends away—and it’s all because he thinks fruits and vegetables are yucky.

“Eating greens is a special treat.

It makes long ears and great big feet.
(But it sure is awful stuff to eat).”

But, hopefully the rest of us can learn a valuable lesson from my friends fatal flaw. Even if you don’t like fruits or vegetables, please eat them… for our sake. If we all just commit to avoiding bad breath (especially poop breath), there would be less enmity in the world, sure the breath-mint market may suffer some losses, but I’m not sure they deserve to stay in business because my friend sprays Binaca like he’s dusting crops and it never does a bit of good for him.