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A Modest Proposal: Coaching Hoops While North

[17-minute read]

MARCH MADNESS of my very own, 2025

(Being an OPEN LETTER to Canada’s (Young) Ballcoaches)

 

Dear coaches and basketball dreamers,

(And especially *you*, young hoopers, trying to make your mark on this game we love so crazily and so much):

Hear me out, folks. This is not a rant. But its heart is in making basketball a better place to work and play and live in. (This will take you 17 minutes or so. You’ve got this!)

I’m the old guy waaaay over there in the baggy sweats, still blowing his whistle and dreaming his dream, still wondering if we can make This Thing We Do better for the next generations of hoop-crazy kids. My view: as with many other Big Important Deals going on in the world, the biggest problems we face all have to do with not getting our stuff together.

The basketball community – in Ottawa, where I live, and maybe where you are, too – is like a team whose players all have different ideas about how to win. We leaders/coaches don’t play together. We don’t play smart. (We do play hard, to finish the old formula advanced by Dean Smith at North Carolina; Ontarians, Canadians, are putting in the work, don’t get me wrong.) As a result, we don’t come near achieving, certainly in my city, what the sum of our separate talents might suggest we should.

We’re not united. Greater unity is the solution to nearly every problem. Zoom all the way out to climate change, the renewed scourge of war, or infighting in your favourite local or national legislature: only long-view collaboration can overcome them. Can basketball development be much different?

I get it, this is sport; this *is* competitive. But to too great an extent, the basketball community doesn’t act as if we have shared interests, as if we are all in the same boat (we ARE) of trying to realize a double vision: a) to create maximum opportunity for masses of kids to enjoy (and stick with) this game, and b) to encourage excellence at all levels, especially for the (relatively) few who are ready for the push. Instead, we coaches go our own ways. Instead of competing mainly on the court, where it best belongs, too often we are going our own stubborn and selfish ways, poking away at each other, undermining each other’s efforts, often without intending to. We’re guarding our yard, you might say (or growing our brand), without seeing beyond our own little patch of real estate.

As always, in any community (or any family), the cost of disunity is borne by the kids. For the truly talented (or truly privileged, or both) among our players, this might not be a big problem; if their ambition is to play at various “next levels”, their athletic gifts and other resources usually allow them to succeed in the basketball economy. The worst effects are felt, unfortunately, by the greatest number of young players.

[I’ve coached more high school than anything else, but have run numerous house leagues and founded a regional basketball club, have coached in elite development programs in Ontario and with a top-level club in Ottawa. I will probably end my decades of coaching in a high school program where I have been welcomed and have a fine young coach to work with. That’s where I’m coming from.]

So here’s what I see.

***

High Schools, Prep Schools and Clubs. In Canada, hockey, soccer and baseball have traditionally been club-based sports, just as in Europe, Asia and most of the rest of the world. Football and basketball have tended to be school-based, following the globally unusual American model. (“Education through school sport” is the Ontario Federation of School Athletic Associations (OFSAA) motto. I still maintain my stock!) Bias alert: my main career was as an English teacher; I love the intersection of sport and education; John Wooden is my coaching icon.

Of course, school-based sport has its challenges, especially in the U.S. where it is practiced at its best and most extreme: jocks getting an educational “free pass”; frequent corruption where schools rich in facilities and other resources get richer while the poor schools get poorer. (Hey, can you say “NCAA transfer portal”?) However, this American model has produced by far the greatest proportion of the best amateur and professional players in our sport. The Amateur Athletic Union (A.A.U.) system in the States developed as an extra way in which motivated athletes could enrich their development and playing experience, particularly if their schools did not have a solid off-season development program. Clubs in Canada have filled a similar void.

And between such school and club programs falls the modern “prep school”. Originally, every secondary school was considered a prep school, preparing students to succeed in post-secondary education. (Americans still refer to high school sport in general as the “prep” level.) Specialized preparatory schools, usually private ones, often offering an extra high-school year, evolved to help get students prepared academically for entrance into high-ranking universities with lofty admission standards. It’s only in the last few decades that this concept was extended to preparing “student-athletes” – yeah, I’ll say it, far more emphasis on the athlete part of the equation! – to get athletic scholarships. Pay the prep school fees, so the current thinking goes, wear cool gear, attend shoe company tournaments and you’ll be readier for and better known to the college sports powerhouses. (Pardon the history lesson.)  

Fine.

In Canadian basketball, it seems to me, we’re following the American model, sometimes to our benefit, but for better and for worse. For most of my basketball life, a player needed to take care of academics if he/she wanted to play after high school, whether that was in a Canadian college or university or (for the very few) in the NCAA. That squashed the ambition, for example, of my super-talented high school teammate, since he didn’t care much for school. But it also kept a great number of high school football, basketball and other players in school, and at least somewhat motivated to succeed there. And playing for your school, if that community cares about what you do, is one of the best things sport has to offer. More on this later.

The “for worse” part is this: instead of emphasizing the value of school-based athletics, as the Americans have done for over a century, we are (I think pretty blindly) copying the AAU mentality, as well as adopting a prep-school-is-the-only-school approach. Both of these can seem to benefit the top, let’s say, 1 or 2% of players, but they also can actively interfere with the development and enjoyment of a majority of those who play our game seriously.

CONFLICT. It wasn’t that long ago that club and high school basketball had quite distinct seasons. When I was coaching club teams in Ottawa in the 2010s, these select players would finish their high school seasons (perhaps with some extra weekend training with their clubs) before starting a club season that would run from March to May and beyond. My current high school teams don’t have a lot of club players; the ones we do have, though, are stretched thin. Their club coaches are insisting on what amounts to a nine-months-or-more commitment; meanwhile, we’re trying to build a team culture, a shared commitment and feeling, for a four-month season, at most. (I’ll leave aside the growing fact of kids’ inability to play multiple sports, which we know has huge advantages for young athletes.) Our club kids are pulled in opposite directions, and are incentivized to pace themselves at my practice because they’re going to his practice that evening. Or to skip one or the other. They’re more prone to overuse injuries. They’re more likely to get stale. (“Coach, basketball is starting to feel like a job,” one of my boys confessed this past season.)

Yes. We’ve all heard it: “High school ball is dying.” Really? Isn’t that a self-fulfilling prophecy? (It’s alive and kicking hard at our school, and we’re not alone. At the risk of being obvious, it’s still — to an almost absurd degree — a Pretty Big Deal in the Excited States of America!) So many kids are enticed to pay big money – and to sacrifice the real comradeship that comes with studying and playing and graduating at your own high school with your buddies – to pursue the prep school dream, which is an illusion for so many; I’ve seen the love for the game, for too many boys, dampened by their eventual, inevitable disillusionment. Even the ones who “succeed” there are often role players on a thrown-together “all-star team” where one or two kids get all the reps. I can’t help thinking of specific case histories of players I’ve coached or trained, who would have been much better off leading their own high school (or local club) teams, and developing as complete players rather than being slotted as under-sized forwards, or strictly as rim-runners, or as corner-three specialists.

[HOCKEY SIDEBAR. Canadian hockey learned this the hard way, probably still is. It took forever for our hockey leaders to acknowledge that the Soviets, and the Europeans in general, were producing more skilled hockey players with their emphasis on puck-handling, more creative and flowing movement, and especially on having a 3:1 or 4:1 ratio of practices to games. Elite Canadian youth teams, meanwhile, tended for decades toward the opposite ratio, played sixty- and eighty-game seasons, asked their players to fire the puck into corners and then fight to get it back, and began losing international competitions they had once dominated. Every Russian or Swedish forward, it seemed, could out-skate and out-dangle our guys and roof backhands over the goaltender. Eventually, we learned. The McDavids and McKinnons and Bedards of modern Canadian hockey didn’t learn those exquisite puck skills playing dump-and-chase, game after game after game. They had quality practices with huge numbers of puck-touches, and enormous numbers of skill reps. Okay, back to basketball!]

I agree: exceptional ballplayers (think Cooper Flagg, leaving Maine in search of competition) may benefit from playing with and against other gifted athletes. (Hmm. But Larry Bird and LeBron James, Michael and Steph, Steve Nash, Caitlin Clark, all played for their hometown high schools, and benefitted from the responsibility-for-winning that they carried. Just saying.) At our place, we tell truly hungry kids that we’ll recommend they leave our high school program if we can no longer give them what they need to continue improving.

But as high school coaches, we have huge advantages to offer our players. At our place, we can (and do) provide gym access, nearly year-round, before school. And of course, we have the standard three hours (or so) that high schools have after school for their teams, zero-cost gym availability that gives us basketball coaches at least two practice slots available every weekday (more if the secondary gym is available, which it often is); it’s everything we need. I was constantly frustrated, as a club coach, by the cost, the scarcity and the scattered locations of our practices.      

The AAU Curse. Speaking of skill development, I watched that rock-fight in the NCAA second-round game, no. 2 St. John’s under Pitino and Calipari’s late-developing Arkansas team. This isn’t breaking news, but it seemed pretty obvious: here were superb athletes, assembled by two master recruiters, and the intensity was ferocious. These young men have each played many hundreds of games, some important, but many meaningless. (The 5th glorified pick-up game of a weekend on a secondary court against another area all-star team? Come on.) Yes, their ball pursuit was relentless, and they competed. But they couldn’t shoot. Defensive fundamentals were rough. I didn’t see a single great pass. And the offences they ran, under these two Coaching Giants, were based on brute force and one-on-one, high pick’n’rolls where the “roll” man was ignored, and very little sophistication. (Kinda like Canadian dump-and-chase hockey in the ‘70s and ‘80s.) In other words? I would bet my house, were I a gambling man, that most of these powerful athletes, on the whole, had played at least four times as many games in their lives as they had had quality practice sessions. It’s an old story. It’s one of the reasons I coach high school ball instead of club and so-called “AAU teams”. Skill development.

***

“So, Coach Jay, what are you saying, exactly?”

What can we do? How can we adopt a more united vision of what coaches, schools, clubs and trainers can accomplish for our players together – in our city, or pretty much anywhere? And hey: why should you WANT to?

I have some thoughts.

Basketball is a team game. Let’s work together. I was at a local USport game, and got talking to a young guy that (maybe?) I’d coached against in the National Capital high school league. He went to uni in Boston, got into coaching there, and had returned to his home town. He was keen, excited. “Yeah, I want to start up a training program and make my name here.” DON’T DO IT, I surprised him by saying. We’re not short of young guys marketing themselves as personal trainers, or starting their own one-man coaching bands. But we *do* have well-established clubs in Ottawa that need help, clubs with infrastructure and house leagues, resources and referee-development and established “home gyms”. These are fine places for young coaches to plug in their talent and enthusiasm. And hey, at my school we have two excellent coaches in need of assistants, and all the gym time in the world, and no need to squeeze kids for money! In other words, I suggested, be a team player, and contribute to something that Already Exists, instead of re-inventing the wheel and having to poach players from existing organizations. (It’s a disease.) Ottawa does NOT need more clubs and Basketball Dream Factories. The traditional clubs, across the city, sometimes don’t play nicely with each other, but they are sustainable and solid, offer real resources, and could use your energy and talent.

So yeah, young fellas, be team players! Build your skills and experience within a structure that offers opportunity, perspective and help.

ALSO. “All I’m askin’ is for a little respect (Just a little bit)…” In Ottawa, the dog-eat-dog pursuit of scarce (player) resources means that club tryouts for a primarily spring/summer season occur in August and September of the previous year. That’s a LOOOONG club “season” (more like three seasons, all-season!). When I was coaching both high school and in an elite club program, I made a clear distinction between phases of our club program’s development. Once the team was chosen, we tried to get one weekend skills practice per week, from October through February, so that my 14 athletes from 13 schools could dedicate themselves to their high school programs. We didn’t install team sets and terminology; most of them were getting enough of that in their schools, where each guy was a leader. And then, come Madness time, and right through to early summer, we ramped up as a club team, playing in our various tournaments and leagues.

It’s still a good model. But the weaponized pursuit of players has meant that because of the endless club season, club coaches not only don’t or can’t coach high school, they are actively interfering with the traditional high school season with competitions and practices through the winter.

(A brief road trip down Highways 416 and 401: High school tournaments in Kingston, a smaller city producing fine players, and club and high school teams, have been eye-opening for our coaching staff. Years ago, they united several clubs into one, and the high-competition teams from U15 up don’t do much during high school season; in fact, many of their best school coaches are Kingston Impact coaches as well. The Queen’s University program seems to support this process. Kingston looks so good from where I sit. Maybe you have similar examples where you are.)

This kind of mutual respect between existing club and high school programs would have huge benefits. Clubs that, increasingly, disregard the high school season are counter-productive. The result is burned-out players (and families), the dilution of high school ball (quite obvious in Ottawa and elsewhere, sadly), to say nothing of 12- and 13-year-olds who can’t even imagine trying another fun sport, even if it was primarily as cross-training for hoops.  From a 30,000-foot view, there are no obvious advantages, whether for individual players or the basketball eco-system as a whole. I’d argue that club ball would actually benefit from a shorter, more focussed season, just as the NBA surely would.

“Sometimes when everybody else want to zig, you maybe oughta ZAG.”

So. Yes! I AM going to finish with an unpopular suggestion. We need more young basketball-lovers to ZAG in their approach getting involved in the game. What does this mean?

Consider COACHING HIGH SCHOOL BALL. (In some cases, this could include “prep schools”, which can be very good overall experiences. Too often, though, they can also be exploitative, badly run money-and-attention-grabs that seek to attract and market talent, but don’t develop it as well as they could.)

You may find yourself in a school, maybe even the place you graduated from, where recent tradition doesn’t seem all that, y’know, competitive. But that can change. Schools are meant to foster enthusiasm, learning, and EXCELLENCE, and athletic programs  can benefit from that basic “education through school sports” philosophy, if you’re willing to work at it.

The advantages? Holy cow! They can be awesome.  

The High School ADVANTAGE. Academics automatically matter, and you can use your coaching as motivation for your players to be real students. Player development matters, because you can’t just pluck and choose your talent from wherever; you will be required to do what all-star “teams” can too easily neglect – skill development.  Team feeling, family feeling matters, because your players can be together through four years of shared experience, fun, trials, wins and losses and ultimately their graduation alongside their friends. Affordability and gym access MATTER, since you’ll no longer be scrambling for expensive evening rentals but will instead have all the hours you need – and heck, you might even be able to spend more evenings at home. (Or continuing to play yourself!) The existing infrastructure matters; you’ll still have to schedule tournaments and exhibitions, of course, but establishing your practice itinerary will be a breeze compared to coaching for a club, and there is a league and playoff structure already in place. (In Ottawa, it’s way too brief and under-promoted, and I know it’s much better in other jurisdictions. But the more there are dedicated coaches in our schools, the easier such problems will be to solve.) Example matters, and when have the youth had a greater need for a big brother or sister to look up to? (Especially those coming from minority backgrounds.) School spirit matters, and when you’re doing something exceptional, it can begin to galvanize the whole school community; our boys have had the experience of playing big games in our gym with a genuine home-court advantage – big and loud audiences of their friends, school-mates and (gasp!) even their teachers! Club coaching often means you’ll have a higher calibre of talent overall, and these programs certainly has their place. (In the high school off-season, that is!) But the games aren’t as meaningful, the practices aren’t as frequent, and it’s only a few parents who generally get to watch.

Think about this. Why is the NCAA Women’s and Men’s “March Madness” tournaments so compelling? Where does the interest, the hype, the tradition come from? Largely, they come from school communities, fan bases that really care about their alma mater, their teams, and from student bodies who find a reason to get excited over something together and graduates (plus band-wagon jumpers, sure!) who remember and re-kindle their own school experience. You wouldn’t see anything even resembling that at an AAU-style or club tournament.

High school sport, at its best, is a BLAST! For most players, it’s the highest and most personally meaningful level they will reach.

And here’s the other thing: coaching high school ball won’t prevent you from doing personal training, or catching on with a club if that’s your thing. I would argue it gets you readier to do a great job in those other coaching environments.

***

Okay, faithful readers and friends-in-sport. You’ve been generous with your time, and patient with my rambling and All These Suggestions you didn’t ask for. I appreciate your reading ALL THE WAY DOWN TO HERE. I’ll finish with the obvious: Like any team, like every sort of collaboration, the more the leaders in our basketball community work and PLAY TOGETHER, the greater our results will be for the ones that really matter: little house-league ankle-biters, high school strivers, next-level talents, and even the adult recreationists who still feel good about our game. The PLAYERS! What’s best for (ALL OF) them is our shared purpose. Thanks for listening!

And hey, if you’re in Ottawa, take an old coach to lunch!!

Sincere and hair-on-fire regards,

“Coach Jay”

 

BRTN*: Pat Riley’s The Winner Within: A Life Plan for Team Players

[7-minute read]

’80s elegance: Armani on the sidelines, Magic on the hardwood.

* “Better Read Than Never”. I’m often late to the party, which prevents me from being a mere trend-follower. (Ha.) I’ve done a bunch of these untimely reviews/appreciations.

Covid-19 made me do it! (Alongside its henchpersons Disorganization, Procrastination and Distraction). You see, I’m in peak spring-cleaning form. Purge Mode. Pat Riley, one of the top leaders in the world of sport, has been leaning handsomely on the front cover of 1993’s The Winner Within in my collection of books on athletics and coaching. I had always passed it by, a bit leery of this seeming attempt to reap business fruits from his basketball story, so it seemed a great candidate for give-away. But here’s where my efforts at Stuff Reduction and Orderliness often go sideways; my thinking, exactly, was this: I can’t get rid of it without reading it first, right? So I did. I read it in a day, and when was the last time I gave myself that little gift? Happy isolation, everybody! And I found that I liked it more than I thought I would. The Winner Within is certainly of its time, it’s no masterpiece of reportage, but it has good stories and a solid underpinning of wisdom. And quotes! (I’m a sucker for books with quotations inspiring, and wisdom marginal.)

As I guessed, Riley’s book does have some tedious business cases and stretchy attempts to relate the Los Angeles Lakers Basketball Club to the boardrooms of America. On the other hand, it is actually well-written (no ghostwriter credited, but Wikipedia says there was one) and damned if I didn’t actually appreciate some of the external stories just as much as I did those of the rise and fall of the Lakers dynasty in its 1980s form. I was an avid consumer of that decade’s emergence of the NBA, as the Boston/LA, Bird/Magic rivalries fueled the rise to the prominence this league enjoys today. Since I viewed those rivalries through glasses with a distinct Celtics-green tinge – call it the Larry Bird Bias – it was interesting to read more from the purple-and-gold side of the story.

The Winner Within follows a thematic structure reminiscent of Joseph Campbell’s famed Hero’s Journey concept. Riley applies this framework to the changing fortunes of his longtime team, as the Lakers rose from late-70s gloom to Showtime!™ (and, to a much lesser extent, to the championship-ringless New York Knickerbockers that Riley coached in the early ‘90s). The NBA “Team of the ‘80s” undulates from the pre-Earvin Johnson lows to his Magic rookie season, in which (amazing to recall) a 19-year-old “Magic” Johnson energized a jaded superstar, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and the entire Lakers franchise in an incredible rookie season, and then replaced him in the deciding game of the Finals, winning the championship MVP trophy.¹ So easy to forget how brilliant Magic was.

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Coach Obsesses About Basketball “Requirements”, Has Words

[9-minute read]

Just down there, in the He Said/She Said section of this here site, is the latest quotation that got me to thinkin‘…

Bonus points if you know this guy. Hints: HoF player and coach; *not* J. Naismith!

The citation is from James Naismith, in 1892, weeks or months after he scribbled down the 13 Rules of the game he had just invented. He was far too humble to call it “The Naismith Game” or anything like it, so he called it “Basket-Ball” “because there’s a [peach] basket and a ball, so…” I saw a reference in something I’d read to what might have been the second thing he wrote about his new baby, this sport he’d been asked to design in order to give young Christian men — it was invented at the YMCA’s International Training Centre, after all — a way to keep in shape during a Massachusetts winter. (And this, from a Canadian! Perhaps there was no ice rink at the Springfield YMCA? Maybe he held an anti-hockey grudge? Or — horrors! — he didn’t know how to skate?) Anyway, this was the reference, a copy of which hangs in the Naismith Museum:

 

“THE PHYSICAL AND MENTAL REQUIREMENTS OF BASKET-BALL”

“Agility, accuracy, alertness, cooperation, initiative, skill, reflex judgment, speed, self-sacrifice,

self-confidence, self-control and sportsmanship.”

There are 12 qualities that he wanted the game’s disciples to know and strive for. And I couldn’t help noticing how close they come to alphabetical order! (So yes, I’ve given Coach Naismith a little editorial help in what follows.) In the interests of obsession and whimsy, let’s think of them not only in this (improved) order but also with my (mainly) approving comments on Dr. Naismith’s “requirements” after each one:

ACCURACY. When modern hoopswise guys talk about “athletic ability” and the physical prowess of prospects and pros, they routinely ignore this one. They favour sprinters, long-armed discus-throwing types, jumpers and other track’n’field demonstrations of “athleticism”. Even 128 years later, we need to be reminded that hand-eye coordination, the ability to make that leather globe go through an elevated fruit bucket (or between flailing limbs to an open teammate) is fairly important, too. Cooz. Earl the Pearl. Nash. Steph. KD. Luka. Accuracy.

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Boys in My ‘Hood: “Talkin’ ‘Bout TRAINING?”

They’re bigger now, one a freshman starter at McGill, one doing a prep year with D1 aspirations. Good men.

[5-minute read]

I live in an Ottawa neighbourhood called Overbrook, having moved here from southern Ontario in ’02. (I don’t think we chose it because the great Wilt Chamberlain and other NBA players went to Philadelphia’s Overbrook High, but I can’t swear that had nothing to do with it. ) I’ve been a nutbar basketball coach since well before my athletic prime waned, a lover and teacher of “the city game” decades before I flew the coop on my little hometown. I’ve blown whistles in gyms all over Ottawa, from house leagues to its top-shelf club team to three area high schools. Still, though, I like wandering by the Overbrook Community Centre’s outdoor courts – among the best outdoor venues in the city, at least potentially. And there I was, minding my own business and in broad daylight, when suddenly I was swarmed by a group of youth, must’ve been a dozen of ‘em, and they obviously wanted something from me.

Headfake! It’s not what you might have thought. These were shy middle-schoolers, who had asked an older brother (I’ll call him “Izzy”), “Hey, who is that guy you were talking to?” Izzy and his older brother know me as an ol’ ball coach. We had shot the breeze a bit, and then I left him and his younger brother and the rest of the crew that he was coaching and encouraging in a pickup game. I was sporting a ball, gimpy ankles and a spare tire ‘round my middle. I haven’t really played much since we got back from China five years ago (hence the added girth; I actually got back into half-decent has-been shape on the outdoor courts of Dalian). I just wanted to get a few shots up on the one other basket with a net on it, and think about my neighbourhood.

Before long, with Izzy leading the way, the whole group came across the asphalt courts towards me. Izzy, ever polite, did most of the talking.

“These guys want you to train them. I told them you’re a coach.”

“Train?” I answered. “Are you sure?” I told them that a lot of boys think they want to train, but really they just want to play ball because they like it – and there’s nothing wrong with that! But here’s the thing. Kids have heard their NBA heroes talk about training. It *sounds* so cool, but in fact it takes sweat and patience and perseverance and attention. Were they really sure? Listen, I’ve had a lot of guys tell me they wanted to train, or that they were really grinding, but it either didn’t last or it was fake in the first place. And then I stopped with the cautions. What was the point in being Dickie Downer?

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Rebuttal: Face Painters, Spectators and Couch Potaters. (*Should* We All Be Witnesses?)

[4-minute read]

Two days ago, I wrote praising the ongoing excellence of a little-known sporting dynasty in Ottawa, Canada, my city. (They are called the Carleton Ravens. They have achieved an astoundingly effective process, and their results are unprecedented.) I also lamented how little Ottawa appeared to care about their less-than-mobbed return from the U SPORTS national championship in Halifax earlier this week. I’ve been thinking. I write in modest (and partial) rebuttal of Wednesday’s post.¹

¹ The great writer on education and culture, Neil Postman, wrote a book early in his career called Teaching as a Subversive Activity. A few years later, he replied to himself with Teaching as a Conserving Activity. He once wrote that even his book-length arguments could end, “On the other hand…”

Where the hell *is* everybody? I’ve asked at Ravens home games, at national championship finals, and last Monday, as I watched video of the Carleton crew descending an escalator in the Ottawa airport. I don’t mind being in the minority; heck, I have several areas of my life where I’m enthusiastic about things that aren’t exactly trending. (German films. Canadian literature. The St. Paul High Golden Bears. The Book of Certitude. I could go on.) Still, it wrankles, how little respect is given to the furious brilliance shining from a modest gymnasium in south Ottawa. But then, hold on a minute: why *should* we measure the worth of something by how many eyeballs are on it?

Why *should* we reflexively insist that if something is good, the rest of us should all WATCH? My old mentor/buddy Don loved to say, “I could watch somebody do anything, as long as they were the best in the world!” This is still an interesting idea to me, though it was not true in practice; the range of things he paid his quiet, careful attention to didn’t stray too far from baseball, Garth Brooks and basketball. But the point – really the foundation of the whole professional sports enterprise – is that when somebody is superb at what they do, the rest of us should siddown and *watch*. Well, at least if it’s a sport; not much of an audience for watching a brilliant mathematician at a blackboard, or an outstanding chemist in her lab.

Maybe this is not ideal, as fine a player as LBJ has been.

More possibly over-serious questions: Why *should* we “all be witnesses”, as the sky-high Nike billboards for LeBron James would have us do? Wouldn’t it be better to *emulate* excellence, to be inspired by it to DO OUR THING in the same spirit? This may come closer to the way that Dave Smart, the Carleton U coach, thinks about it. I doubt he fires pep talks at Carleton students, trying to get them and their cowbells and their painted faces out for Friday and Saturday night home games. He pays little attention to the crowd experience, and other than picking up one of his two young boys as soon as the game is over, doesn’t acknowledge the fans. I am convinced he would detest the grind of handshaking, radio shows and alumni-flattering that is essential at big-time American colleges. At Carleton, he coaches. Simple. But part of  Smart’s coaching has always been youth development. If you stumble into the Ravens Nest on a Sunday morning, you might see him helping out with a practice for 5-8 year-olds, his little guys among them. His legendary Guardsmen youth development team has morphed into the Ottawa Elite, a series of seriously coached age-level teams inspired more or less by his basic ideals: play against the best, defend, develop skills and next-level teamwork, and learn to how to work and compete. His Ravens regularly work with them, and these teams are far more important to Smart than how full the stands are for his games

So why should I care? Why am I writing laments, as I did Wednesday, for how few people are at games or going all rah-rah at the airport when they get back from Doing The Job They Went To Halifax To Do? Or as my effervescent kitchen-mate said this morning, eyes dancing with visions of trails and trees and the perfect match of wax and snow: “Why watch basketball when you could be out skiing?” (Ah, so that’s what it was: everybody was cross-country skiing or doing yoga or otherwise self-actualizing when the Ravens arrived at the Ottawa airport. EXCELLENT!) Do we really need more spectator-sports-obsessed, doughy-middled couch spuds getting virtual joy from watching while the select few get to Actually Do Stuff? Probably not. Still, it would be nice if folks paid more attention to greatness they could see and appreciate right up close – hey, and maybe use that as inspiration to help kids know something of that thrill of getting-better.

But on a day like today, to paraphrase late-life Leonard Cohen, I want it darker, so forgive me if I darken things up a little. We’ve all heard the grim news from New Zealand, which makes my knickers-twisting complaints about attendance at the local basketball barn seem a little silly today. In the wake of ANOTHER of those dreadful reports, this time of mosques targeted in Christchurch, where a “man” crucially starved of education and morality live-streamed his hateful assault on worshipping Muslims, yes, maybe this is a good day to say it. Don’t watch. DON’T be a spectator.

Don’t watch his twisted, narcissistic video, certainly. But maybe I can challenge my own thesis from Wednesday, and go so far as to say: Don’t watch anybody. Don’t be a spectator as life parades on by. Do good. Build a little something instead.

Ignoring Excellence: Sport At Its Best, Barely Noticed

[8-minute read]

They were coming down the escalator, the whole team and its coaches and support staff, and there must have been a few dozen friends and family members along for the ride, too. I was virtually there thanks to the randomness of the Twitterverse, watching video shot by somebody at the Ottawa airport (#YOW!) as the Carleton Ravens men’s basketball team returned home, victorious again, from the Canadian university championships. I kept waiting for the punchline, the birthday shout of “SURPRISE!!” Confetti, maybe? A brass band? Something.

Ravens at the Ottawa Airport. That’s Marcus with his back turned, Big Eddie left of the banner with a suitcase, gritty Mitch on the other side. (photo by YOW staff)

I was waiting for the welcome, but I wasn’t actually expecting one. I’ve seen this show before. I retweeted the video, added a snide comment – they must have edited out the adoring fans and their roars of appreciation! – but it would have been surprising (and delightful) if there had been a crowd there. After so many championships, such unremitting quality, most Ravens home games are nowhere near sold-out, even though it’s a modest size and every seat is close to the action. Those lunatic student sections we see on American TV? At most Ravens home games, there are fewer students in the crowd than there are cheerleaders. Large swathes of Ottawa residents get right giddy if the local pro hockey millionaires so much as sniff the playoffs; the Senators are routinely mediocre and often appear to be poorly run. But the Ravens? Ottawa is just not that into them.

This is surely a place I go and a thing I write to feel special, in a why doesn’t anybody else GET how GOOD this is? sort of way. I’m not completely alone. There are plenty of others who understand how astounding are the accomplishments of this under-appreciated athletic powerhouse. Even cable giant Sportsnet’s Tim Micallef – once a year, mind you – brings real enthusiasm and knowledge to his praise of U SPORTS¹ basketball in general, and the mighty Ravens in particular. The final games in the tournament had high production values to go along with the fine play. What’s more, back in 2014, the American sportswriter Jordan Ritter Conn obviously *got* it; Conn wrote a comprehensive feature for the lamented Grantland site, subtitled “If a team wins nine out of 11 national championships in Canada, does it make any noise? Meet the Carleton University Ravens.

¹ U SPORTS is the third different moniker for the national university sports body. When I tried out for varsity basketball (cut at *two* different schools, beat that!), it was the Canadian Interuniversity Athletic Union. The CIAU gave way to CIS (Canadian Interuniversity Sports), but that acronym wasn’t bilingual, either, so U SPORTS is now the brand. I still stumble over what to even call this association I pay so much attention to.

At the time, the Ravens under coach Dave Smart were on the verge of matching one of those “unbeatable” sporting legacies: the immortal John Wooden and his string of ten national championships in twelve years at UCLA. They’ve left that hallowed mark far behind now. Last Sunday’s 34-point blitz of the Calgary Dinosaurs in the U SPORTS national final in Halifax marked a FOURTEENTH TITLE IN SEVENTEEN YEARS. The Ravens are always at Nationals, where only the top 8 teams in Canada qualify. In the three years where, major upset alert, Carleton did NOT win the title, they were edged out by good teams playing superb games. But get this: in those 17 years, when the Ravens get to the championship game, they are 14-0. Fourteen times they’ve reached the highest rung along with one other team, and never lost. This can’t be true, but it is.

No, THIS way! Coach Smart. (Getty Images)

More preposterous? The 34-point smackdown of the Dinos this year doesn’t actually stand out that much. The Dave Smart Domination of the Canadian university basketball scene started in 2003, but of the first six championship games, five were decided by six points or fewer. Nearly all Carleton’s players were from Eastern Ontario, many of them developed as kids by Smart himself in his club teams. (Fun fact: four of his nephews played, starred, during his first decade as a coach. “He’ll run out of nephews eventually,” the cynics said. He did, but that didn’t matter.) They did not have overwhelming talent. Since then, though, as the Ravens began to attract players from across Canada, there have been some shocking feats of season-ending domination. 20-point wins in ’11 and ’12 were followed by a 50-point shellacking of Lakehead in 2013 and 2015’s crushing of UOttawa, again more than doubling the score on their crosstown rivals. A 22-point victory over Calgary the following year foreshadowed last Sunday’s extinction of the Dinos.

How does this happen?

He wouldn’t like this answer, but it’s obvious: it’s all Smart. (He credits players who buy in, sustain the expectations from year to year, and allow him to coach them feverishly.) For his career, he’s won well over NINETY PERCENT of league and playoff games. He is a basketball savant, and sees the game with a detail and precision that yours truly (a pretty confident hoops coach) can barely conceive of. He has incredible energy and focus, relentlessly challenging his players to be perfect and then to be better. (I don’t know how he sleeps. Maybe he doesn’t, at least at Nationals.) He is a master motivator. He was an effective recruiter who promised nothing but year-round effort and a coach’s chronic dissatisfaction – well, that plus improvement, success and brotherhood – until his reputation as a teacher of the game and his litany of WINNING did a lot of his recruiting for him. He is notably hard to play for. (I’ll never forget him berating fifth-year star Phil Scrubb for an error with under 2 minutes left, up by, oh, *48* or so, in the 2015 UOttawa massacre. He relentlessly chases perfection. I also remember Scrubb looking right at him, nodding understanding, as his players uniformly do. They all accept, even welcome, his urgent, desperate entreaties to do it right.) His teams practise with a furious intensity that somehow never ends in fisticuffs, and endure an internal level of competition that: A) makes game pressure pretty familiar, and B) somehow produces not antagonism but an amazing level of team cohesion, mutual respect and collective accountability. The Ravens rank with the greatest examples of TEAM play, the strongest rebuttal to the me first mentality, that I’ve ever seen or even heard of. They are the ultimate in unselfishness.

Which brings me to Marcus Anderson.

Anderson is a defensive menace. He’s in his fourth year with Smart, an internationally respected defensive guru. (Ever heard the trope “Defence Wins Championships”? The Ravens have. And they do.) Marcus doesn’t score much, though he can get hot from three-point distance, but he has been guarding the Ravens’ best offensive opponent for three seasons now. For the last two, he’s been selected as U SPORTS Defensive Player of the Year. Naturally, last Sunday, he drew the assignment of guarding Calgary’s do-everything star, Mambi Diawara. (What a great name!) He lured Diawara into an early offensive charge, but also got caught for two 1st-quarter fouls himself, and headed for the bench. His main replacement, a talented transfer named Isaiah Osborne, was clicking offensively and did a more-than-adequate job on Diawara. The team was humming, and unless I’m mistaken, Anderson never got back in the game. He played only six minutes, far below his usual contribution. And yet: there he was, standing at the bench, hollering instruction and encouragement to his mates on the floor. There he wasn’t, pouting or feeling sorry for himself over not contributing more in the Big Game. In the post-game huddle, after the bouncing and yelling and water-pouring exuberance of the Ravens’ celebration, there was Marcus, addressing the team. I don’t know what he said, but I know what his face communicated: I love you guys, we did it, all of us, and every bit of trial and sweat we’ve gone through is worth the world to me. Let’s keep going!

How long can this sort of unprecedented athletic dominance continue? Can the Ravens keep this up?

Short answer: YES. Marcus is back. So are tournament all-stars Munis Tutu and first-team All-Canadian Eddie Ekiyor. So are Yasiin Joseph and TJ Lall, the other starters. The Ravens lose the Mighty Mitches, hard-grinding forwards Wood and Jackson, and role-playing guard Troy Reid-Knight.

(A quick word on Mitch Wood. His whole season was a little like Marcus Anderson’s game. A far-undersized power forward at 6’4”, Wood is one of the toughest men you’ll ever see on a basketball court, and had been a sometime-starter in his previous four years. But with the ascent of Ekiyor as a dominant inside player, and with Smart having gone to a more guard-oriented lineup because of the logjam of talent there, Wood’s role was reduced this year, at least when it came to playing time. Didn’t matter: he was never anything other than a high-effort lynchpin for this team, and a quietly rugged role model. I loved a stretch during the second half of his last university game, when if the Calgary men had any glimpses of hope, Wood snuffed them out with a series of hustle plays in which he nabbed at least four of his game-high 5 offensive rebounds. These are relentless-effort, unyielding-determination plays that sap an opponent’s will, and which had Wood’s teammates standing and roaring their appreciation. They were thrilled by his career-ending contributions, the essence of what makes for a brilliant team culture. These Ravens have that by the truckload.)

Everybody but Troy and the Mitches is back. There is star power in the freshman and sophomore classes that most haven’t really seen yet, since it’s very tough to defend and rebound with the precision and fury that Smart demands.² There were five talented young men who sat out every game this season as redshirts, learning to practise like a Raven does, and aiming to score a game uniform next year. (One of them was on Canada’s U-18 team last summer, for crying out loud.) It’s awful news for the rest of the men’s basketball programs in Canada, and for the NCAA teams that come north to get spanked by the Ravens next summer (as, famously, the Duke Blue Devils refused to schedule Carleton on their Canadian hype-fest last summer; can’t let a defeat gum up the works of an ESPN DukeFest!). Next year’s Carleton Ravens could be A LOT BETTER than this year’s 37-1 championship squad.

² My favourite Raven is Yasiin Joseph, a local Ottawa high school star that I coached a little bit. He played barely at all in his first two seasons as a Raven, and politely cut me off one time when he knew I was about to give him the “hang in there, buddy” speech. “Hey, don’t worry about me. This is awesome. I’m learning so much.” He earned a starting job in his third year after a brilliant performance in leading a comeback win against Alabama and Collin Sexton in the summer of ’17, and was the leading scorer in Sunday’s final. Great hands, great heart.

And still Ottawa yawns. And most Canadian sports fans barely notice, let alone understand the incredible talent, effort and culture-creation that the Carleton Ravens basketball program³ represents. The good news is that I can still easily get last-minute tickets for games, and can take my high school players at great prices – if only I could convince them that it’s worth their time.

Short trip, I know, but it drives me NUTS. March Madness, indeed!

³ AND THERE’S MORE: I’ve written about the Ravens frequently over the years, most recently HERE and HERE and HERE. You KNOW you want to deeper…

 

O Coach, Coach, wherefore art thou Coaching?

[5-minute read]

It’s hoopin’ time again. *swallows nervously, drums his fingers on the desk*

Can you hear the whistle blowing? I am blowing the whistle. On coaching. Mine.

I can’t just walk away, and I don’t want to, and I don’t think I necessarily ought to want to, but the apparently never-ending intra-cranial debate continues. And the scoreboard says WHAT? I don’t know why I should feel that I’m losing this contest, since I’m playing myself. But it’s a battle of divided wits, and there is always the fear of loss. Such is the mind of a man who wants Sudden Victory, in terms even his childhood self could understand. Confetti. Trophies. Hugs from my brothers, kisses from my wife. A microphone in my face; it wants to know how it feels for me to be Such A Champion. Guess what?

I still want to win.

So yes, that’s part of it. It’s probably not the most stone-headed story I tell myself about why I want to coach basketball, still and again and for who knows how long. There are other reasons, compulsions, purposes and afflictions. Some of them aren’t so savoury, while others leave a mainly good taste in my mouth. But in the pursuit of the recently proverbial (and ungrammatically concise) “Know Your Why”, let me start off being truthful, and hang the embarrassment:

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Women and Girls First

She's amazing, but in this post she's the "other Simone".

She’s amazing, but in this post she’s the “other Simone”.

                            [4-minute read]

It had been All About the Women up ‘til Sunday night.

And that’s mostly fine by me, lover of women that I am and aspire to be.

What about the guys?

Yessir, I think about that all the time, and not just when it comes to the Olympics and Canada’s medal count. For only one of hundreds of examples: Boys Adrift is a good book, and its subtitle (“The Growing Epidemic of Unmotivated Boys and Underachieving Young Men” is part of it), though long, crystallized my worry and confirmed my observations. There are others like it, and plenty of other worry-warts besides me. However, this space has been crowded with masculine worries and wonderings and Superhero Action Calls to Young Men, fragile shouts that are no doubt still echoing down the cold, dark emptiness of deep space.

I hope Mr. Phelps can leave swimming and spotlights this time, but I will worry about his transition. This post is not about him, either.

I hope Mr. Phelps can leave swimming and spotlights this time, but I will worry about his transition. This post is not about him, either.

Yes, the Rio Olympics. That’s where we’re headed.

I am no longer as avid about matters Olympian as I had been for most of my life, but I still pay attention. I still get jolts of home-boy joy when a Canadian is two one hundredths of a second faster than a guy from another country and therefore wins the title of World’s Third-Fastest Human. (Yay, Andre!) There’s an even purer, less patriotic delight in watching Usain Bolt surge into that long-limbed, powerfully fluid overdrive for SprintGoldSeven, or that incredibly smooth stride of the South African Wayde van Niekerk as he ran away from TWO Olympic 400-metre champions. That was astounding, and world records usually are. (And since van Niekerk is slender, and maybe since he’s coached by a white-haired, Afrikaans-speaking white granny, there’s not even a whisper of a suggestion of a muted accusation of him being a drug cheat. Hoping his cleanliness is as real as his jaw-dropping talent and training.)

But I’m a Canuck. The other moment of televisual awe, for me, came in the second half of the women’s 100-metre freestyle swim.

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Shocking. Routine.

[A day late and a 1000 words short, so it’s barely a 4-minute read; you can finish it in one Olympic sell-you-stuff competition, but there are HOT LINKS to extend the pleasure!]   
Guess they were. Shouldn't have been.

Guess they were. Shouldn’t have been.

And yes, you’re safe. This is NOT more hand-wringing about American gun violence. It’s not even about my bride’s violent dismay at a quick tour of the TV landscape last night, though her horror at what passes for normalcy was real enough. (Our brief fling with hotel television – mainly Olympic coverage – was a side benefit of our one-night stand anniversary getaway.) This was in another sporting arena, a modest one and far from Rio, where a team known as the Shockers¹ were in for a surprise.

¹And I do know, the Wichita State team name is not about horror movie results or bad interactions with electricity. It’s a Kansas thing. It’s a wheat thing.

No shock for me, though, especially once I knew that Fred VanVleet and Ron Baker from last year’s NCAA Tournament “Sweet 16” team had indeed completed their eligibility² at Wichita State, a strong fixture in recent bouts of March Madness. Surely, too, Coach Gregg Marshall was better prepared than he let on in a pre-trip press conference in Wichita, before heading off to Canada for a four-game pre-season tour. He must have known about the reputation of Ottawa’s Carleton University Ravens, not only their twelve Canadian Interuniversity Sport titles in fourteen years, but their tendency to beat NCAA teams when they come north.

²I wish I could more confidently write “graduated” rather than “completed their [athletic] eligibility”.

The Shockers’ first game was in Montreal, and they dismantled the UQAM Citadins – ostensibly a peer to the Ravens, a CIS squad competing for national honours – 54-18 in the first half on the way to a 50-point win. But surely they’d heard about Wisconsin or Memphis or Indiana (and many others) coming into Ottawa and losing in prior summer junkets by top-drawer Division 1 teams? Of course they had. They weren’t driving blind, but it didn’t matter a bit. As my buddy Seb grinned as the game got out of hand, “I always like to look at the bench of the D1 teams as it sinks in what’s happening to them. Getting rocked by Canadians?” Meanwhile, a less-heralded Stetson University (Fla.) Hatters team had been on the verge of being blown out by the Ravens the previous Friday evening, but managed to keep the score respectable, losing by 9.

Beating the Americans is actually fairly routine for the Ravens. They’re used to this WINNING thing – but don’t tell me those non-scholarship lads don’t take sky-high pleasure in schooling the Americans at the game they’ve dominated for so long. (They do get financial aid, many of them, but it’s no “full-ride” athletic scholarship. And yes, that’s an oxymoron, but nobody notices anymore.) And longtime readers of this site will know that I’ve written this story before. Most recently, the twin killings of Josh Pastner’s Memphis Tigers two summers ago made me wonder. Incredible. I watched it. You should read this and then this – they show how the systematic dismantling of a bigger, more “athletic” team by a bunch of Canucks was done. They also tell most of the story, if I do say so myself, about CU’s rising dominance of incoming NCAA teams.

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Really, Kevin? Can’t Beat ‘Em?

(twelve-minute read)
One of the good guys, from what I can tell. Wearing the dark hat (and a bullseye) now: Kevin Durant.

One of the good guys, from what I can tell. Wearing the dark hat (and a bullseye) now: Kevin Durant.

Young sir, may I call you Kevin?

I’m sure They have been calling him lots worse, though I’m not looking under bridges to check. I’m guessing “traitor” and “chickenshit” and “turncoat” and “ungrateful bastard” are making the more printable lists. “Benedict Arnold” might be favoured by those who know a little American history.

So: Basketball Star Kevin Durant Signs Free-Agent Contract With Golden State Warriors. There’s your lede, not going to bury it. This being July 5th, it’s no longer news in the antic spin-dry cycle of what-have-you-hot-taken-from-me-lately entertainment/journalism. But to me it’s still novel, a bit shuddery and uncomfortable, sort of bewildering yet all-too-familiar, a cause of naive dismay and even a spur to misplaced and minor outrage. Hey, wanna come along? 

This is literally unmediated. I haven’t had the chance to filter my jangled thoughts through what must have been a torrential downpour in the Twitterverse sports teacup, a tempest in the chatrooms and sports blogs of the world. (At least in North America, this must have outdone Iceland over England by far, and may have even outstripped Trump and cute animals for an Internet spell.) I spent the very best part of yesterday hanging around in my corner of Ottawa with some of the finest young people you’d ever want to know, and many of them barely know who Kevin Durant is. The day was about selfless service. Voluntarism. Youth leadership by the young. (Hence, I wasn’t much more than a bystander, but an inspired and committed one.) Moral purpose. Community. Educational vision. Societal transformation. All that grassroots jazz. (And walking. Lots of walking.) There was no time for Twitter.

But some of the youngsters do know KD, and their phones are smarter than mine is. As we hunted for idealists in Overbrook on the fourth of July,

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