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More NBA Stuff: THE. Knickerbockers WIN! 2-0 is amazing…

[2-minute read]

And then there’s Mike Brown coaching (and Mitch Johnson for the Spurs, young though he is) in a way that shows trust in his supporting cast: no Brunson, no KAT, and players who’ve been trusted all season — guess what? — are ready to play when it counts. Big third quarter, game could’ve gotten away from the Knicks with Towns’s 4th (terrible call!) foul. And the stars are fresher? Yes. And will be, in the fourth quarter. I really like the NBA’s movement towards not only faster play, not only more full-court pressure on star guards, but the consequent requirement to play more guys and play like a team. I love coaching this way, which is essential in a high school program. Who knows who’s going to grow, mature, work his tail off, gain confidence…? And in this case, who knows how many important plays a trusted substitute (Shamet, McBride) or complementary player (Hart! Bridges!) can make?

Knicks up 12, early in the 4th. Brown *still* playing his bench, and they’re playing well. And Daddy (Coach) Rick Brunson wants to get in there to defend his boy! Coach Rick gets no technical foul for going all the way down to the Spurs bench to challenge the schoolyard bullies? (This game is close to going off the rails.) Jalen Brunson is way too cool to get baited into a foul like Fox (and Friends!) were hoping for. Nice try De’Aaron…”Too physical!” says Richard Jefferson on the broadcast, and I can’t agree more. Rugby rules. Blow the whistles, refs! That eventually *does* lead to the ability to let ’em play. Right now, not much skill is even possible. I get that officials don’t want to decide things, though. Toughest game in the world to referee.

And again I notice: wow, the Knicks have a surprisingly loud following in San Antonio. Resale market for tickets, and San Antonio ticket-holders have terrible temptations, in the many thousands of dollars, to make some money on their ducats. And the Knicks are an ancient and durable brand.

And what a finish! Spurs are so young, but tough! Their guard pressure, Fox and Harper (a baby! and a grown-arse man!) and the maybe gimpy Castle — so physical, and with the way the game’s being refereed, playing hard without (?) fouling. Tie game, rookie Harper with another big drive to the goal. Oh, and a crucial replay: turnover against the Knicks turned into three free throws for OG Anunoby. (Foolish foul in the coffin corner. Game changer.) (Wish OG was still a Raptor. Don’t expect *he* does.) Spurs huge, and then Brunson, fouled at least three times bringing the ball up, STILL gets a huge clutch shot off to tie…

Crunchiest of crunch times.

Whew! Wemby had a great look, straight as a die, long and strong (what we shooting coaches love to see, in a practicing player’s miss) but still a miss. Superb, furious, brave comeback by the Spurs but what an early-fourth-quarter clinic by the Knicks to compile what turned out to be just enough of a lead — as long as Victor doesn’t miss the last one. As long as Victor doesn’t, for moments here and there, look exactly like the young, young player, however magnificent he can be, that he *is*. And how can I not pull for Karl-Anthony Towns after a thoughtful, feeling interview like that one in the immediate aftermath of such a game? He came close to suggesting that his beloved mother blew Wembanyama’s shot off the back rim from the heavenly gates, but all that humility and all that gratitude for the game? Sweet and noble stuff, even if it is only about the winning and the losing of a silly sports match. One that millions lost sleep (and money, and their minds) over.

And I’m not in bed before midnight, but I still love sport. And I’m glad I watched. Nice ramblin’ atcha! Thanks for reading.

 

Knicks and Spurs: Ramblings 2

[5-minute read] [This is Part 2 of a live-ish reaction to Finals Game 2. Part 1 is here.]

My goodness, Jalen Brunson was magnificent in the 2nd half of game 1, and he’s under gigantic defensive pressure/punishment here. Karl-Anthony Towns is an awkward big, but those hands. That rebounding. He’s been a bit of a punchline in my (mainly online, podcast-driven) NBA fanship. But hey, can we put in a word for the possibility that even seasoned, veteran players like him can LEARN? Can improve? He clearly has, and much of it has been just this year, from what I can tell.

Hacking Mitchell Robinson. Ugly basketball. I know what the hardliners would say: His fault. Just make your damned free throws if you don’t want to get hacked! But it’s one of several ways that the FIBA rules are superior to those of the NBA. It’s an “unsporting foul”, 2 free throws and the offence retains the ball, and suddenly this side show, where San Antonio reserves just keeping intentionally fouling one guy, far from the play (and in the first case, when Knick Landry Shamet had beaten his man on an actual Basketball Play and was attacking the goal), is just removed from the game. Good riddance!

Moral dilemma: I can fast-forward through the interminable, repetitive commercial breaks and get myself to bed before midnight, but then I don’t have time to record my every hoop-nuts thought for the edutainment of the masses! Tough call.

This is bad basketball. Another stupid foul on Robinson — but he hit both. Good for him. Sidebar: why the hell won’t somebody with that terrible a free-throw stroke try the underhand shot. YES, I MEAN THE ‘GRANNY’! This shooting coach — I mean ME — in a basketball tributary pool far from the world centres of the game, is conceited enough to think he could teach Mr. Robinson how to make at least HALF his free throws…

End of quarter. Great start for these precocious baby guards in San Antonio. (Man, they’ve had massive draft luck: 1st pick in the Wembanyama Draft, then getting Stephon Castle at 4 the next year, and Dylan Harper at 2 last June, but superb and less-obvious choices in the last two cases) And, you have to think that they, along with Oklahoma City and precious few other franchises, are doing a wonderful job of developing the players they have, and not the constant “Trade Machine” roulette, another thing I find tiresome. They did set De’Aaron Fox (got his first-name spelled almost right, first try!) free from Sacramento Kings purgatory; always loved that guy since the tears at the end of his (brief!) college career, in contrast to the oh well, just another game in another tournament AAU-cursed cool of, say, Lonzo Ball in the same year after he got bounced out of the NCAA Tournament.

Did I say “tiresome”? “And let’s check on our superstars, Draft Kings odds blah blah blah”– gad, even the former NBA players doing colour commentary on the game have to shill for this Resident Evil that has so tarnished the pro game. An old dude like me remembers gambling as being the number one enemy afflicting sports, and now it’s every league’s best friend, even as it preys on vulnerable young men. (An old Sports Illustrated feature: “This Week’s Sign That the Apocalypse is Upon Us”. For this decade, it’s clearly the unbelievable hold that gambling suddenly has on pro sports. Sickening.) I remember the old Supertramp album from the 1970s: “What Were Once Vices Are Now Habits”. How prescient is that? And yeah, I said it. Gambling is a vice. The love of money is the root of evils. Yup, I said “evil”, too; so did the New Testament and most calls to right living. (That’s some harsh language, sir!)

Towns is playing so well! At a certain point in my coaching, I was about to rename our old “Mikan Drill”, the big man shooting protocol immortalized by the great Laker from the ’50s (when the Lakers were in Minnesota, where there are actually, y’know, lakes), and call it the KAT drill, but his obvious skills didn’t seem to match his total “impact on winning”, as coaches like to say. So the drill is still named after George Mikan, at least in our gym. But it’s great to see the transformation of Towns into this smart, responsible player (and not just a star)…

I love how fast the Knicks are playing, both teams, really. As much as I love Shai Gilgeous-Alexander — a good old Hamilton homeboy, as I almost am, as my nephew Tyler (yes, *that* Tyler, Ternowski of the Hamilton Tiger-Cats of the CFL, for one season a high school teammate of SGA at Sir Allan MacNab) actually is — I think, from what I saw and heard of the Spurs’ victory over the Thunder in the western finals, that Shai loves too much to advance the ball slowly; it’s the same tendency that Jayson Tatum, according to Coach Jay, needs to overcome. I do love the fast-break game. Why allow a suffocating defensive team to get set?

Gosh, I thought I’d be pulling for the Spurs. They beat Shai’s Thunder, for one thing, but I have loved the Spurs for pretty much the whole Gregg Popovich era: the Admiral, Timmy!, Tony, Manu, that incredible dismantling of the Miami Heatles during the James/Wade/Bosh era, the fearless political (well, let’s just say “humane”) commentary of Coach Pop, that beautiful brand of team basketball, the new era with an intelligent, sane young unicorn in Victor W…. But man, these Knicks are reminding me, speaking of gorgeous ball movement and shooting, of what I grew up on in the ’70s. The Knicks with two titles, the Celtics of Havlicek and Cowens and JoJo White. I am shocked to be pulling for the Knicks, but Brunson is so good. Josh Hart is an outstanding role player doing all the right things. Kat 2.0. Loved the Villanova University teams of Jay Wright (Hart, Brunson, Bridges), and this is a team built on the fundamentals of team ball. I love it.

And now Kenny, Shaq and Charles are yelling incoherently at each other during “At the Half”. Later!

 

 

Watching Pro Basketball In Unreal Time: NBA Finals, Game 2!

[Two-minute read]

Just home from a gathering of the friends, and now I get to fire up the National Basketball Association Finals. It’s the Knicks, it’s the Spurs, it’s  game 2. Game 1 was my second time watching during this playoff run – wait, is that right? – well, in any case, I am trying to limit the amount of time I devote to the watching of televised sport. I do pretty well for a pathological devotee of hockey, baseball, football and basketball on the ‘boob tube’. (Does anybody still call it that? Haven’t heard that expression this century, I do believe.) Not much hockey or baseball anymore, except when the Blue Jays, or I guess any Canadian-based NHL club (thanks, and sorry, Oilers!), make their Big Dance. Football is mainly just the Super Bowl now. Freedom!

My SportsNet feed keeps trying to take me ahead to Spurs-up-7, but I’m gonna watch the whole thing. Okay, I fast-forwarded through the anthem. (Rather attractive young lady, but I’ve heard enough “Banners”; I can hear my sports-centric big sister grumbling about the big pride-of-America hoopla.) And hey, the guy San Antonio had to introduce the Knicks seemed like he was heavily sedated, but for the Spurs, suddenly he was on caffeine, amphetamines and who knows what.

Man, the hype. The game never gets old, but man, the crazed intensity – so much of it performative and rehearsed and amplified, having to outdo the manic fans of days of yore (like, say, way back in March for the Madness) – gotta say, it just, y’know, seems like a lot.

So yeah, I’m watching the NBA. On a sort of television: my laptop screen. (But EVERYTHING IS TELEVISION. If we thought Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves to Death was out of date, consider how our screen addictions have only deepened and multiplied.) And you get to read, Not Quite Live But Surely Of Surpassing and Profound Interest, my random thoughts. Blessings! And peace be upon you and your mind. Further instalments to come. TONIGHT.

[This has been lightly edited since last night; a couple of brief elaborations. Parts Two and Three can be found in the “It’s All About Sports!” section of this site, here and here.]

Ursula K. Le Guin (on the alleged decline of reading)

[6-minute read]

One of her mightiest novels, but she wrote *everything*.

Ursula Le Guin is a hero of mine and, though often labeled as a ‘genre writer’, she is a giant of 20th century American literature. Her series of so-called “young adult” fantasy novels, beginning with A Wizard of Earthsea, were the first Le Guin books that I read. I recently finished The Dispossessed, a remarkable invocation of an extra-planetary society built on the principles of Anarchism, for a book club. (I’d read it before; I loved it again.) I’m midway through a fascinating, diverse non-fiction collection of hers, called Dancing at the Edge of the World. I was lucky enough to see her in conversation before an audience that packed an otherwise underused Anglican cathedral at the Ottawa Writers Festival in 2009. I cannot un-hear, from that electric evening, what her fiction so regularly upheld: her rejection of the trope, so common in speculative fiction (and Westerns, and comic books), of what she called “redemptive violence”. For her, this was an especially ugly non sequitur, a strikingly vulgar contradiction in terms. She radiated intelligence. Wisdom. There was someone to listen to.

Not long before this downright reverent reception at Christchurch Cathedral, in February 2008, Harper’s magazine had published her essay “Staying Awake: Notes on the alleged decline of reading”. I keep a photocopy of it. It anchors a school notebook where I keep irregular tabs on my own reading. “Staying Awake” begins: “Some people lament the disappearance of the spotted owl from our forests; others sport bumper stickers boasting that they eat fried spotted owls. It appears that books, too, are a threatened species…” and she goes on to cite both alarmed and shoulder-shrugging so what? reactions to the “alleged decline”. In the essay, she challenges mass-media’s sometimes gleeful response to surveys indicating that we read less, especially in book form. She takes the publishing industry to task with “amused contempt”; she is deliciously snarky as she bites the corporate hands that (carelessly) feed her craft. She analyzes historical and contemporary trends in literacy and what it means, and has meant, to our culture.

Most importantly, though, she centres her argument on what the act of reading actually is, and what it does with our minds. And what is a book, exactly? But wait. Before quoting the Le Guin perspective that brings us together here in electronic communion, please allow a short side trip. (If you jump ahead to read Ursula, who’s going to know? And how could I complain?)

So here’s a personal, but also amazingly planetary, narrative tangent. It’s all about BOOKS.

An abundance of good luck – and a massive adolescent absence of caution – has meant that I have hovered at the margins of the worldwide Bahá’í community for a long while now. This has meant several sweet things. I have a taste and an ongoing hunger for Persian food; the 19th-century foundation of the Faith in what is now Iran means that I’ve come to understand and love many Persian things and people! I have also known two hopeful and fruitful marriages to believers, the second of which is alive and well, and the first of which is now remembered with fondness and gratitude. I guess I could mention, too, that my worldview has been constantly expanded, enriched, interrogated and confirmed; the globe’s move toward unity and peace and justice is inevitable.

That’s the kind of mindset you can sustain if you hang around with the Bahá’í teachings  and those that seek to apply them. So, lucky me!

Literacy, learning, society-building in action. Where in the world?

Now, speaking of “the alleged decline of reading” mentioned by the great Ursula K., the Bahá’í community reads like crazy! The ancient references to the “people of the Book”, applied notably (and approvingly) by the Qur’an to Jews and Christians, also pertains to the followers of Muhammad themselves. In the Faith of Bahá’u’lláh, reverence for these and other holy scriptures is deepened by adding a whole modern canon of the Word. “In the beginning was the Word,” says the New Testament (John 1:1), to which I dare to add this: the Word has remained alive, and been renewed, and shall ever continue as the foundation of human progress and comprehension. That’s my take on the Bahá’í take on the power of the Word.

The Bahá’ís, too, are “people of the Book” in their high regard for the sacred teachings and writings of the major world Faiths, as well as the traditional wisdom of Indigenous peoples. It is not some passive, token respect for holy writings. They actually read them. For example, faithful believers are asked to read from the Faith’s writings twice a day; not for long, necessarily, but as part of their spiritual hygiene. What’s more, the worldwide community has adopted, as one of its core activities – all of which are open to the wider public – a series of “study circles” that enhance one’s understanding and application of the Bahá’í principles. (Check ‘em out: truth, justice, love – the old faithfuls – as well as the essential oneness of humanity, the equality of women and men, the fundamental harmony of science and religion, and the eradication of all forms of prejudice and oppression. Yup. Astounding stuff.)

These young’uns are from Boston, could’ve been my town or yours.

The initial sequence of courses has titles like “Reflections on the Life of the Spirit”, “Arising to Serve”, and “Releasing the Powers of Junior Youth”. For the Baha’is and their friends, though, in-group shorthand just calls them Book 1, Book 2, and Book 5. (People of the Books!) And you’ll find such study circles, if you look a bit, just about everywhere in the world. They work. Learning happens, habits build, trust is established. And more: the act of reading, and of education generally, is celebrated and valorized in the most grassroots way. I’ve seen photos from all over the world — what happens when a study circle is complete? In a most charming and counter-cultural tradition, the group will have a photo taken, smiling friends holding up their red or yellow or green manuals. They might be saying, with their grins, We love our books! It’s been great to study and learn together! We even memorize certain passages! We are learning to not only read the Word but to read the reality of our place and time, and we find great hope in our shared community-building. How’s that for enthusiasm for the importance of the written word?

Thanks for staying with me! And now, back to Ms. Le Guin, for one of the clearest and most emphatic arguments for the power of the word (not to mention The Word) that I have read.

“At about the two-thirds mark in her essay, Le Guin acknowledges the variety of ‘entertainment media’ available to the modern data-consumer; after all, “the Internet offers everything to everybody: but…there is curiously little aesthetic satisfaction to be got from [it].” And then she gets to the heart of the matter; here is why reading matters SO MUCH to so many of us:

Reading. Trees.
(Public Domain)

“…[R]eaders aren’t viewers; they recognize their pleasure as different from that of being entertained. Once you’ve pressed the on button, the TV goes on, and on, and on, and all you have to do is sit and stare. But reading is active, an act of attention, of absorbed alertness—not all that different from hunting, in fact, or from gathering. In its silence, a book is a challenge: it can’t lull you with surging music or deafen you with screeching laugh tracks or fire gunshots in your living room; you have to listen to it in your head. A book won’t move your eyes for you the way images on a screen do. It won’t move your mind unless you give it your mind, or your heart unless you put your heart in it. It won’t do the work for you. To read a story well is to follow it, to act it, to feel it, to become it—everything short of writing it, in fact. Reading is not ‘interactive’ with a set of rules or options, as games are; reading is actual collaboration with the writer’s mind. No wonder not everybody is up to it.

“The book itself is a curious artifact, not showy in its technology but complex and extremely efficient: a really neat little device, compact, often very pleasant to look at and handle, that can last decades, even centuries. It doesn’t have to be plugged in, activated, or performed by a machine; all it needs is light, a human eye, and a human mind. It is not one of a kind, and it is not ephemeral. It lasts. It is reliable. If a book told you something when you were fifteen, it will tell it to you again when you’re fifty, though you may understand it so differently that it seems you’re reading a whole new book.

“This is crucial, the fact that a book is a thing, physically there, durable, indefinitely reusable, an object of value.

“…[Meanwhile] [e]lectrons are as evanescent as thoughts. History begins with the written word. Much of civilization now relies on the durability of the bound book—its capacity for keeping memory in solid, physical form. The continuous existence of books is a great part of our continuity as an intelligent species. We know it: we see their willed destruction as an ultimate barbarism. The burning of the Library of Alexandria has been mourned for two thousand years, as people may well remember the desecration and destruction of the great Library in Baghdad [during the 2003 Iraq war]…”

[Italicized emphasis in the quote above is mine, not Le Guin’s. Read the whole essay here.]

Tilting at Track ‘n’ Field

The Don and his loyal sidekick, Sancho Panza. (Where is my Sancho?) They seek great deeds, and charge against windmills… (from Wikipedia)

[4-minute read]
[This was originally posted on May 27/26 under the “It’s All About Sports!” rubric.]

I really must read Don Quixote. Many say it’s the first great novel in Western Literature, written in Spain while Shakespeare ruled English theatre. Early 17th-century work of genius, fully titled The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha, by Miguel de Cervantes. Maybe you’ve heard of it. I’m amazed I’ve never gotten ‘round to it. And no, this isn’t English class, and yes, we WILL be talking about sports. Metaphor alert! Hang on tight now!

(Look, never mind my career as a high school English teacher and alleged lit-wit. Ignore the pretensions, the haunting of Writers Festivals (pre-eminently my Ottawa local) and poetry-adjacent mooning (and jooning) and my long affection for being among readers even less accomplished than me. (Hello, Room 2011! Hello, ENG 3A1!) Pretend, you and I, that we barely notice all the faux-brave resolutions and horse-wishes about finding myself, thorough-going small-town balls-for-brains that I was and remain, in the art of writing, and maybe even finding the artist in me. Yeah, Don Quixote is a substantial hole in my reading resume, and likely yours, too. Call yourself a READER? Et cetera.)

But even that cliché shame doesn’t quite cover it, since I know myself to be more than a little “quixotic, i.e., /kwɪkˈsɒtɪk/, defined by Merriam-Webster as the foolishly impractical pursuit of ideals, typically marked by rash and lofty romanticism” (Wikipedia). Furthermore the expression “tilting at windmills describes an act of attacking imaginary enemies (or an act of extreme idealism), [which] derives from an iconic scene in the book.” (This was also Wikipedia.) Don Quixote was so buzzed out on his reading of romances that he charged into noble battle against, yes, windmills, which he mistook for the kind of fearsome monsters that noble knights slew and saved the day in books. Rash romanticism? Extreme idealism? Me? Heck, I spent the bulk of my professional life as a high school teacher in a couple of southern Ontario towns. I loved baseball and hockey, football and basketball, and have long coached the latter as if world peace and climate justice depended on it, as I like to say. Is that the biography of a crazy idealist undertaking missions ridiculous?

‘Fraid so. I have charged, on an overloaded donkey, sporting a rusty sword and a lance not much longer than my left arm, numerous windmills of my fevered athletic imagination. (Ask Cap’n Gord about my vision of new lights, a large grandstand and the hundreds-nay-thousands watching the Mount Hope A’s play Senior Men’s fastball. I played shortstop, batted leadoff, wasn’t bad, but in my mind was headed for the Olympics in a sport the IOC barely considered.) (Ask Coach Donny, who shared – though less scarred by ‘rash and lofty romanticism’ – my vision of challenging the great high school hoops teams of Toronto from the banks of the Grand River in a small hockey-mad town. I played the role of a less accomplished Chip Hilton turning into a Coach John Wooden Of The Western Niagara Peninsula. But we never quite made it to small-school provincials.)

The most recent evidence of this quixotic strain, this passion for the unlikely, comes at a French Catholic high school where I find myself coaching, deep into retirement from teaching, a junior varsity basketball team. I’m in a good-sized city this time, working alongside a fine young coach, but again as if world peace…etc. (And as if my remaining hair was on fire.) I still love it. Kids get fine things from it. I feel useful and engaged. And for a couple of years now, realizing how much high school ballers would benefit from such cross-training, a Phys. Ed. teacher and I have tried to develop a track ‘n’ field program, une équipe d’Athlètisme.  

I must be nuts. Another windmill? A big-city championship in school basketball, in a time when AAU clubs and alleged “prep schools” are ascendant, isn’t improbable enough?

I convinced, Mighty Persuader that I am, two of my kids (and not ONE varsity ballplayer) to make their fairly half-arse efforts at being tracksters. They weren’t really feeling it. But still I fell, rookie coach and raging romantic fool that I am, in athletic love with a group of new kids who initially came out for my back-hall Speed’n’Power training in March. Not gonna lie, as the kiddies say: it was such a pleasure to get to know and coach a number of girls, mostly in grades 9 and 10, who are regularly more pleasant and grateful and funny than their male peers. Some of the school’s best athletes made occasional appearances, wanting to get a few days off school for this year’s more ambitious slate of meets. Times went down and measurements rose.

Still, unlike Don Q, the “man of La Mancha”, reality does eventually register with me. Few kids were able to sustain much commitment to this new adventure of building a track and field team. “Coach, I train on my own for my soccer (or football, or hockey, or basketball, or improv) team…” As coaches, we tip-toed in setting expectations; predictably, most showed up for the bare minimum of events and, after a month, for way less than that. Sheesh, we had two kids take a pair of days off school for the City of Ottawa championship meet without having been to ANY of the previous ten practices. Good athletes, nice kids. Not my idea of team- and culture-building. Reality bites. Dreams grow mouldy.

The tabs of my laptop are littered with videos on the arm mechanics of hurdlers and the footwork of triple-jumpers; meanwhile, our school has a cruddy gravel track, no starting blocks, the most embarrassingly cobbled-together imitation hurdles, and one weedy jumping pit. But never fear! I see provincial championships and NCAA scholarships and genuinely strong and fit basketball boys in our future. Well, I did sustain that dream for a month or so. Athlètisme might even have a lower social media Q-score than hoops in my city, but there’s this: the best track and field athletes in Ottawa were all at the City championship meet. The best of them are members of the Ottawa Lions TFC, and are FAR out in front of the field. I’ve picked out a handful of names to watch for in future Olympics. And hey, we did have two athletes, admittedly inexperienced but in non-marquis events, win Novice (girls javelin) and Junior (boys 300m hurdles) titles. Eight more kids qualified top-five to go to Regionals tomorrow and Friday. (So did I!)

But as the chief coach, acknowledging my excellent general knowledge about track and field (Olympic Games quadrennial appointment television!) and my rudimentary technical skills in teaching events I never participated in, I can’t help reflecting that this “team” practised substantially less often and far less hard than my middle of the road JV basketball team. Still, I habitually think, Okay, it’s a start. We’re building something that could be meaningful, that kids would care about for more than just a barely-earned day (or six!) off school. From tiny acorns mighty oaks do grow. If you build it, they will come. And so on.

Right this minute, I’m not convinced. The kids sure aren’t buying it! I don’t like admitting defeat, but the alternative feels suspiciously like slaying monsters that don’t exist.

Windmills, man oh man. Windmills.

He Said/She Said: Bill Bryson (and Sarah Selecky) (on WONDER)

[3-minute read]

There’s a writing coach around whose e-bay window I occasionally lurk. She’s always pretty and smiling, or pensively curled up with notebook and pen. She entices me to write more, and more satisfyingly and more deeply, and to link up with other scribblers. Her messages sometimes inspire in a general way, they encourage without fail, though they may be too jasmine-scented, too chamomile and meditative and soft for me. (I sometimes write with Jeff Beck or The Propellerheads blazing in the background.) Perhaps I just resist for the sake of loonie-pinching resistance, carrying on in my own solitary way. Still, she has me wondering, and doing math about it…

Sarah’s recent e-blandishment was to join a virtual writing community that has a new emphasis each month. May’s is Wonder. She writes, “In their great new book, How to Design a Meaningful Life, Dave Evans and Bill Burnett share their wonder equation. Here it is:

curiosity + mystery = wonder.

When you know the equation, you see that wonder is always available. It’s a choice. You can find it in ordinary things, once you start looking. An apple, when you really think about it, is completely unfathomable…”

This image comes from Amazon, but please buy from an independent bookseller!

I wonder why and what?! and how?! and who was she in high school? and when will it be?… and I’m off to the races. We all are, when our curiosity isn’t strangled by routine or petty distractions — not to mention that my reflexive question is this: do these slim answer machines that we’re leashed to actually stunt or misdirect our engagement with life’s questions? My big sister loves her iPhone, and quick-drew it on me last weekend more than once to respond to my idlest who won/when’s the next game? queries with an encyclopedic recitation. Fair’s fair: I did ask, but there was precious little mystery attached to my bland microdose of curiosity. My question about smartphones stands, though I do admit that smartphones and the algorithms that fuel their constant use really can (he argues hypothetically, but without much conviction) prompt profound and useful investigations of mysteries more lofty than can you believe what this cat/these guys just did? 

But I wonder, I do, how much and how often this kind of outsourced thinking encourages genuine curiosity about truly mysterious things. They are more likely, in my experience, to excite thoughtless engagement with banal and repetitive images, without a single idea in sight. I wonder.

Now, according to my notes, the force-of-authorial-nature Bill Bryson was on my Sunday Magazine CBC wireless radio as 2025 wound down. (Vacuum tubes, static fuzz-hiss, carefully calibrating the dial so I could listen while shovelling coal into the furnace.) (Okay, no, the CBC still lives in modernity; I mostly listen to its shows as podcasts on my iPhone. Driving. Walking. Or in this case, I believe the Mother Corp soothed and informed me while I loaded the dishwasher.) Bryson is mainly known for writing rich and funny travel books – Notes From a Small Island (England) and A Sunburnt Country (Australia), for only two best-selling examples – but I especially liked his 2003 departure, A Short History of Nearly Everything. It was an avowed non-scientist’s gigantically ambitious attempt to write the story of scientific discovery from the ancients to the 21st century. For the first two years of my family’s five-year unplan in northeastern China, nightly readings of Sciencey Bill Bryson composed my young son’s science curriculum. (When Dad’s an English teacher, you come to expect science as an exercise in storytelling, and what an amazing work of narrative non-fiction it was!)

And is, still and again and even more so! Bryson was interviewing with Magazine host Piya Chattopadhyay about his 2025 complete revision and

Bryson in 2020 (from The Guardian, a fine news site).

update: A Short History of Nearly Everything 2.0. (This, despite his 2020 “retirement” from writing at age 68, as delightfully chronicled in The Guardian.) It was a tasty, engaging conversation, chock full of fun and fascination and – yes, I did remember where I was headed with this! — wonder. Piya wanted to know, after all these books and the over 20 years that had elapsed between original publication and this renewed re-telling of the greatest (and latest) adventures in scientific discovery: what feeds Bill Bryson’s curiosity? What makes the wonder mill keep on grinding?

I loved his answer. He’s a humorist by nature, but a relentlessly thoughtful and wonderfully wise one. He said,

“Here we are….We have this very short window of existence. Before we existed, there was this great eternity that we didn’t take part in, and when we die eternity will go on….But in between, there is this moment where we have the exhilarating privilege to exist. And I think it’s such a shame that we take it all for granted.”

So here’s the math: add Bill Bryson’s furious, curious desire to understand to the vast slowly revealed mysteries of the universe? The sum total is WONDER. Reverence. Amazement. And he moved me to want MORE.

Jim Rohn (on discipline and regret)

[3-minute read]

I had never heard of Mr. Rohn until years after his passing. It appears he was one of that prototypical tribe of American salesmen – “born poor, a millionaire by 30, broke by 33, etc.…” – who come to prominence in their quest to make influence, personal development and individual psychology into an alternative faith tradition. I don’t mean to trash the field entirely. After all, I am a Psych grad and a frequent consumer of PD content; Tony Robbins and I have gone a few rounds, and I learned some useful things. Jim Rohn wrote many books, with titles like The Power of Ambition, Take Charge of Your Life, and The Day That Turns Your Life Around. He inspired the Chicken Soup guys (Hansen and Canfield) as well as Master Robbins. So, that’s coaching. That’s influence, and I can think of a pile of so-called “influencers” who are far less valuable than what Mr. Rohn’s body of personal development work appears to offer.

So. Here’s the Rohn quote that brings me here.

“Everyone must choose one of two pains: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret.”

It’s pithy and blunt, and it got me one day back in 2025. I don’t remember, but it probably came from a basketball coach’s email subscription. Now, let’s talk about an out-of-context quote! It’s the kind of thing, my research tells me (though I might have guessed it), that you can order from Amazon in kitschy suitable for framing on fridge magnets form, but I haven’t been able to find what book it appeared in. On Reddit forums and Facebook pages, it often comes accompanied by the reminder that “discipline weighs ounces, but regrets weigh a ton”. I don’t know how much of his life pitch I would buy, but since I stumbled on THIS one, long after Jim Rohn had passed beyond this vale of human development, I haven’t been able to kick it out of my way. That’ll be useful for my players, I told myself. (Of course I did!) I do love coaching, from basketball to poetry, but recently I have challenged myself anew to accept coaching — and to reconsider my own levels of discipline and regret.

Coach Creede, meanwhile, has accepted the challenges that come from working with an egotistical writer, teacher and coach who has been accused of that worst of sporting crimes: being uncoachable. (That would be me.) Like Apollo (Rocky’s boxing frenemy), this Creede is beginning to punch through my phalanx of weaponized bad habits, mindset disorders, alleged neurodiversity and gigantic appetites for distraction. She asks Those Questions, simultaneously wonderfully encouraging and also barbed. Before long, I found myself making promises that I often don’t keep when I only make them to myself.

The pain of discipline? It’s real. It’s hard to put a lock on the doors of whimsy and impulse. This teacher and mighty slow learner is only too aware: push yourself away from the table, sir, or you’ll still be carrying extra kilos around without a wheelbarrow; if you don’t manufacture time for your writing, ol’ buddy, it’s unlikely to just fall into your crumb-laden lap!

HOWEVER. You’ve all heard this bold statement: I live my life without regrets! So say many contemporary influencers, entertainers and sports stars. It seems foolish to me. Juvenile. While I’m all for throwing off the slimy burdens of useless guilt and chronic self-loathing, it seems to me that people who claim to live without regrets just aren’t reflecting sufficiently on their lives. (Unless they’re psychopaths.) We are meant to take stock of our lives, and decide what is worthy of us and what we should leave behind. Certainly, for me, it’s the reality of various forms of regret that encourages me to stiffen feeble habits, that reinforces my general desire for a more disciplined sort of life.

Is that too old-fashioned for you? Don’t be afraid to comment below, or to share these thoughts with folks who might value them.

Thanks for reading, friends.

Going All *Gregorian* (though not necessarily in a timely fashion)

[And lo, he wrote a poem about OldNew Years and promises of scribbling. And a Happy 2026, headlines notwithstanding, to you!]
[2-minute read]

Going All Gregorian

And I said, Lo, this is an ancient and decrepit choreography for the

Changing of the Temporal Guard,

With attenuated powers of renewal and jangly echoes fading along

consumptive corridors of materialist advancement and

post-hangover promises.

Ridiculous spot for a “New Year”.

And yet it has been a new and Sunday sort of Day

And I’ve been thinking that even a busted, rusted tabula rasa

still offers that shopworn but still clean-enough board of

resolution.

(And resolution came into my language* to express a bringing-into-focus

of things seen darkly, as with camera or dialled-in microscope

of the kind I never used very well in the biology labs of yore)

(* in which your humble scribe lays claim to English)

So I’ll dig a little every day, using Seamus Heaney’s brand of shovel,

not worrying (much) about the impossibility of spading up

soil as rich as that Irish hero spelunked and spelled out.

I am deskside, armed with twentieth century penmanship and apparently

writing a POEM fergawdsake!

Although, reading Heaney aside, that was never the plan for this First Day

But I will X-marks-the-spot each day in January until the calendar scoffs.

And listen: this hardly hurt at all.

Retrofitting a Fancy

“I was an educator of some sort,” began my scribbling about a recent dream.

(This was also true to life. What “sort”, then? This sort: high school; English Creature; one for whom Dead Poet’s Society probably meant too much; taught like world peace depended upon my chalk-stained energy; raced to the gym many an after-school day; teacher-coach; regularly heart-broken but deeply committed, happy and perhaps absurdly proud to be so. “Uncle Jay,” a niece who had been with me in Room 2011 once wrote, “is, um, colourful.” Unlike my sons, she didn’t have to deal with me on the basketball court. And the ghost is still in the machine. I continue to haunt the corridors and the hardwood of Endless High School. “I guess that this must be the place…” (Talking Heads) One of my places, that’s sure.)

I was an educator of some sort, wandering through tight spaces in a huge, high vault of a warehouse. I couldn’t get out, or get where I needed to go, and was also frustrated that I couldn’t escape the dream itself. Moments of am I dreaming here? alternated with me writing on various found surfaces and random papers, here and there, so I wouldn’t forget what I was seeing. And then I’d forget where I left my urgent records. But I was amazed by all I saw in that enormous, high-walled building: old dictionaries, reams of stationery and computer equipment, redundant textbooks, tables, racks and shelves of building materials, fossil remains of art. There were a few rancid corners, but mostly it was filled with odd and dusty and stolidly interesting things. It went on and on. Does anybody realize that all this is still here? I had to get the word out, that all the old-school material — steel and wood and paper and thought — in this building, not to mention the real estate it sat on, had to be worth a LOT. It should at least be recycled and/or sold off! I made notes, lost them, wrote others.

All this STUFF! All this SPACE! Somebody should KNOW about all this! I gotta get this written down (AGAIN!) before I lose or forget it (again!)!

I went for a walk that morning, shared a few choice words with the sun and sky, cocked my head at a certain point and knew, without thinking hard or directly, what that dream was trying to tell me. (Most of the time, I find my dreams are just stacks of frustration dripping with a slurry of random events-from-the-day. I don’t expect revelation, or even meaning. But I’ll take it when I can get it.)

Ha! It was a Writing Dream!

Let’s say the storage area was my life and mind, my understanding, maybe even my imagination. Let’s say that, despite my distrust of my capacity for mysticism, I’m not above looking for signs and portents!

***

All this is a long way of saying that I’m having another kick at the Can. The Writing Can, the I-can Can. A.T. helped me resuscitate this old repository of my stuff. I’m spraying Lock De-Icer on my fingers, and sprinkling hopefulness on my spirit. You’re reading a wee result. Thanks for reading.

 

[I have also dumped, *just* over there in the “It’s All About Sports!” section, a lengthy essay on basketball coaching. It’s a ‘State of the Disunion’ address, slightly different versions of which I’ve been trying to share with coaches in my region, the wider basketball community, and anybody who can tolerate (or venerate) the idea that sport and education can “share the same space for a minute or two”, as the mighty David Byrne used to sing.]

A Modest Proposal: Coaching Hoops While North

[17-minute read]

[This is a slightly different version of a letter I have been stuffing into coaches’ Inboxes. It seems that some are actually reading it, good glory in the mornin’!]

 

MARCH MADNESS of my very own, 2025

(Being an OPEN LETTER to Canada’s (Young) Hardwood Whistle-Blowers)

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”