Columbus (Sophomore, WR #81)
Columbus was held to one catch in the Penguins' maiden game. That's the tough part about being the go-to guy: the opponent's best corner backs are always on you. Years of coaching and I've always had better results calling plays for my number two wide-receiver. Anyway, that didn't dampen her spirits as she and her roommates, CB Bennett (#10) and FS Ziegeweid (#34) hosted a variety show in their off-campus housing. Always willing to show my support to my players, I attended and enjoyed myself immensely. Kids!
I wasn't surprised to see Left Guard X. Leplae (#69) in a couple of acts. He's always hamming it up during practice. Nor was I surprised to see our Kicker taking money at the door. In fact, a LOT of my players were there. My second-string halfback was even tending bar. I'm proud to report that their behavior didn't change none when I entered the hall.
...
Today was hot and humid, the best it's been. I reviewed tape. I edited. I finished some assigned reading (Jeffrey Brown's "Unlikely"). I went to work to enjoy the library's air-conditioned environs. I went to a fast-food noodle place for dinner, as much for their thai peanut noodle as for their air-conditioning.
Yesterday, I dined at the Co-op with my star Right Guard. While we were waiting for our meal (vegan biscuits and gravy and french toast), she noticed two boys stealing bikes from behind the house across the street. That's Sativa and Patrick's place! As she's telling me this, we actually see one of the burglars heave a bike over the back side fence. I went out and luckily, Patrick drove up at the same time. I told him what was going on and he raced through the alley, while I took the long way around. I got there first anyway. My mere presence, though, caused one of the punks to ignore the bike that had been thrown away. But then the other punk comes down the alley, toting two bikes. "Are those your bikes?" I ask, and he says that he found them in the alley.
Patrick's head appears over the wooden fence and he confirms that those bikes were indeed in the yard. He climbs over, mad. "If you'd'a just knocked on the door and asked for them I would've given them to you."
Things happen: the punks trying to somehow say that they weren't trespassing because they didn't actually go inside the house; one of the punks - the tough guy - saying that he wishes he had his "nine" with him; a random twentyish woman walking obliviously through the alley with her groceries temporarily halting the tense proceedings. Things started to escalate and my mind raced to the many simulair situations I've lived through. Lord knows that in my capacity as a coach of a full-contact sport I've had to deal with my share of scuffles. I knew that if either Patrick or the tough guy jsut as so much as touch each other, the fight is on. Even though I coach collegiate football, I'm as pacifist as they get. So I got in front of Patrick, holding him back. The guy being held back always looks tougher than the other guy. This I thought as I tried to calm Patrick down, his compact, muscular body, barely contained in a white tee-shirt, tense and heaving. He kept saying that if he had found them actually in the backyard, he would "pound" them.
What he wanted was for the punks to admit that what they did was wrong. Yet even this was unclear to me until Patrick actually voiced his wish. And then the two kids - late teenagers, really - promptly apologized. Whether sincere or not, it did the trick. Patrick gave them the bikes, saying that he was going to donate them to the Bike Collective anyway.
I gotta recruit Patrick for the team.
I wasn't surprised to see Left Guard X. Leplae (#69) in a couple of acts. He's always hamming it up during practice. Nor was I surprised to see our Kicker taking money at the door. In fact, a LOT of my players were there. My second-string halfback was even tending bar. I'm proud to report that their behavior didn't change none when I entered the hall.
...
Today was hot and humid, the best it's been. I reviewed tape. I edited. I finished some assigned reading (Jeffrey Brown's "Unlikely"). I went to work to enjoy the library's air-conditioned environs. I went to a fast-food noodle place for dinner, as much for their thai peanut noodle as for their air-conditioning.
Yesterday, I dined at the Co-op with my star Right Guard. While we were waiting for our meal (vegan biscuits and gravy and french toast), she noticed two boys stealing bikes from behind the house across the street. That's Sativa and Patrick's place! As she's telling me this, we actually see one of the burglars heave a bike over the back side fence. I went out and luckily, Patrick drove up at the same time. I told him what was going on and he raced through the alley, while I took the long way around. I got there first anyway. My mere presence, though, caused one of the punks to ignore the bike that had been thrown away. But then the other punk comes down the alley, toting two bikes. "Are those your bikes?" I ask, and he says that he found them in the alley.
Patrick's head appears over the wooden fence and he confirms that those bikes were indeed in the yard. He climbs over, mad. "If you'd'a just knocked on the door and asked for them I would've given them to you."
Things happen: the punks trying to somehow say that they weren't trespassing because they didn't actually go inside the house; one of the punks - the tough guy - saying that he wishes he had his "nine" with him; a random twentyish woman walking obliviously through the alley with her groceries temporarily halting the tense proceedings. Things started to escalate and my mind raced to the many simulair situations I've lived through. Lord knows that in my capacity as a coach of a full-contact sport I've had to deal with my share of scuffles. I knew that if either Patrick or the tough guy jsut as so much as touch each other, the fight is on. Even though I coach collegiate football, I'm as pacifist as they get. So I got in front of Patrick, holding him back. The guy being held back always looks tougher than the other guy. This I thought as I tried to calm Patrick down, his compact, muscular body, barely contained in a white tee-shirt, tense and heaving. He kept saying that if he had found them actually in the backyard, he would "pound" them.
What he wanted was for the punks to admit that what they did was wrong. Yet even this was unclear to me until Patrick actually voiced his wish. And then the two kids - late teenagers, really - promptly apologized. Whether sincere or not, it did the trick. Patrick gave them the bikes, saying that he was going to donate them to the Bike Collective anyway.
I gotta recruit Patrick for the team.
posted by Cumulonimbus @ 10:28 PM
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