“Who’s Mike?” she asked.

“A basketball coach we first had in junior high AAU basketball.”

“What made you think of him?”

“He made us feel like anything was possible.  I wasn’t talented, but he believed in me.  In exchange I gave him everything I had.  I wonder what happened to that kid and his effort sometimes.  He used to call me the whirling dervish.”

“Sounds ferocious.”

“I was constantly in a state of falling down.

He taught us man to man, obscure zone defenses, and a full court press for each.  The teams we played against knew only the 2-3 or man to man.  Perhaps they knew one full court press.  We quickly understood the importance of knowledge, and the advantage to be had by aggressively putting it to use.

We had a kid so talented, Mike would have the rest of us set up in the press, then he would give the ball to Ryan and have him break it.  He taught us respect for one another.

There was a kid who got nervous anytime he had to go in.  One game we were down to six players with a quarter and a half to go.  The kid had a long time to think about it.  One of us finally fouled out, and Mike looked to the bench and found him white as a ghost.

‘You only have four out here, Coach,’ said the ref.  ‘He needs to come in.’

‘Those four can handle themselves.  Let me talk to my guy here for a second or two.’  Mike draped his arm around him and cracked a joke in his ear.”

“What happened to Mike?”

“He wore his heart out.  He’d always been a heavy smoker.  There was something about him that seemed to love the anxiety and stress of life.  He was born to be a coach.  It was his calling.  Hip deep in the thick of it, always making adjustments.

I remember going into see him in the hospital.  He was gray.  As a boy I found it hard to believe how a strong man could suddenly look so weak.  Then he opened his mouth.  He was as cantankerous as ever.  Still in the thick of it, making adjustments.  Undefeated.  All heart.

He got his transplant.  He quit smoking for quite awhile.  He set some goals for the rest of his life.  He died over ten years ago.”

“What sticks with you?”

“Mike had asked them to play ‘My Way’ at his funeral.  The pastor obliged.  I was twenty something and still a kid.  I thought the song was about pride.   Years later it struck me that for Mike maybe it was simply about him knowing who he was.  Not many know that about themselves.

We played for him.  Some coaches only desire that.  We played for each other.  Some coaches understand that.  I think what Mike most wanted was for us to play for ourselves.  Few really get that.”

“So he wasn’t a ‘there’s no I in team’ guy?”

“I don’t think he would have known how you could function in a team without knowing your own strengths and weaknesses.  He knew his.  He knew ours.  He knew something about who we could be.”

“Sounds like he made an impression.”

“I loved him.  He loved us.”