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Amos

Ihad Jake pair the boys up with those who didn’t necessarily like one another, and if they were critical of the other boy, that would be even better.

Jake gave me a look, and I laughed. “Trust me, this is going to come back home and won’t be painful or bullying.”

Jake shrugged and did as I asked. As soon as we had the boys facing each other, I handed them a piece of paper and instructed them to write everything their partner needed to do to fix their game. “Keep it all on one page, and don’t spare any feelings. Spell it out. What does that person need to work on to make the team better?”

I stood back and watched the boys scribble detailed lists of their teammates’ flaws. “Okay, now, fold them until they are small enough to fit in your pocket. Got it? Awesome. Stick them in your pockets, and don’t lose them. We’re going to get back to them in a few minutes. Now, let’s head outside. I need the entire group to sit in a circle out on the field.”

“Wait,”

one of them said, “are we going to practice?”

I nodded. “Yep, this is practice. Now, get out there and do what I said.”

The boys nodded, and I looked at Jake, who was smirking. I’d told him my plans to have the kids do some improv, and he told me I was nuts. But I had a feeling it would make a hell of a difference.

“Okay, Coach, keep good notes,”

I whispered. “If a kid suggests something, write down the kid’s name and what they suggested. Just don’t let them see you doing that. It needs to be inconspicuous.”

Jake nodded, and although I hadn’t told him what I was up to, he didn’t question me. I wanted him to experience this firsthand too. Football was as much about the mental game as about ramming your body into other players.

“Now, quarterback, you’re first on the firing line. Come up to the middle of the circle. We’re going to do some stupid stuff to warm y’all up. I’m going to have you all take turns up here. Your teammates are going to holler out an animal name, and for thirty seconds, you’re going to act that animal out. Got it?”

They all laughed and nodded. “Okay, what’s it going to be?”

“Cow,”

one of the kids said, and I looked over at Jake, who nodded, telling me he got who said that. “Okay, Tony, thirty seconds as a cow… Go!”

We did that over and over until each kid had a turn. Then I asked Jake to come up. “Got all those who made suggestions?”

I asked, and Jake nodded.

“Great,”

I said and took the roster with the checks by the kids’ names and the animals they suggested.

“Wow, Omar, you were on a roll. I guess you’re first up. The way this game works is that you now have to act out every animal you called out for your teammates, but instead of doing it for thirty seconds, you have to do each for a full minute.”

Omar’s eyes grew huge, and I had to resist chuckling. Football always attracted the guys who liked being tough—the ones who liked bullying a bit too. I liked Omar, and I didn’t think he was a bully, but he enjoyed prodding his teammates excessively. He had suggested over five animals, more than anyone else on the team.

By the time Omar acted out a snake, a pigeon, a chicken, and a guppy, I felt sorry for him and sent him back to sit down.

When the kids looked up at me, I waited until I had their undivided attention. “My dad was probably the hardest coach I ever had. He demanded the best from me. I was once so frustrated with the team that I almost quit. But my dad taught me a valuable lesson. Remember what I asked you to write about your teammates when we started practice today?”

The guys nodded. “Pull those out and take a look at them.”

When they’d had time to look over what they’d written, I continued. “My dad made a point I’ll never forget, one that kept me in the game. I think that point might be what’s missing here too. You see, that night when I was ranting about my teammates, my father told me, the worst and hardest criticism you have for your teammates is almost always what you need to work on the most.”

I let those words sink in. “You all had no problem writing down what flaws you saw in your teammates, but, like my father told me that night, I’m guessing the words on the paper in front of you are the very things you lack as a player.”

I grabbed a bag of scotch tape I’d bought on my way to practice and tossed tape to each of the kids. “Now, go tape those to the inside of your lockers. That right there is the stuff you need to improve if you hope to be a winning team this season. Coach?”

I said and turned to Jake.

He nodded. “Go do what Amos said. Then head out and run me ten laps. After that, practice is dismissed.”

The kids were surprisingly quiet as they got up and did as instructed. “You’re good at this,”

Jake said when they were out of hearing range.

I shrugged. “I’ve been in the game a long time. Sometimes it’s easier to work on the body than the mind, but you know, the best players have a strong grip on both.”

Jake clapped me on the back and said, “Like I said before, you’re good at this. When you retire, you might want to consider high school coaching.”

I laughed. That would never happen, but I had gotten some good insight into what inspired me the most. Unfortunately, it wasn’t football. I loved improvisation. I loved using drama to drive a valuable point home. At that moment, I was beginning to realize, I may never go back to play professionally.

Yeah, the team had done me dirty, but I had plenty of money stashed away, and I now had a good vision of what my future held. It’s funny as hell that my father’s advice helped me see that.

I’d been critical of the kids not giving a shit. The reality was I loved the performing, the acting silly, and getting attention, but I really hadn’t enjoyed the game in a long fucking time. And when it came to fixing problems, there was no time like the present.