Pinch me, I’m dreaming.

Mid-season, as it became more and more evident that my alma mater, the University of Florida, might be granted another shot at a title, my illustrious travel companion, the Don Calvino, booked a hotel room on South Beach in preparation for the festivities.  The rooms on the beach are closet-like, making a Parisian domicile look spacious by comparison, but we didn’t plan on spending much time there as Mango’s, a South Beach staple, was within stumbling distance.

We descended upon South Beach the eve of the game and found ourselves surrounded by Oklahoma fans.  They had replaced the snow birds in droves.  While chants of “Boo-mer…. SOO-NER” echoed along Ocean Avenue, Gator fans were few and far between.  Oklahoma pride even drowned out the Salsa/Merengue emanating from Mango’s, in which we spent about twelve hours of our trip.  When in South Beach….

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You and your buddies have been planning your Super Bowl party for months.  Deep down inside, you know the party with its canned beer, half-eaten bag of stale chips and a couch that seats three will suck, but at least you’ll be around your boys for the most hallowed of all sports days.

Then your girlfriend gets a call from the doctor’s office where she works part-time and guess what…. her boss is having a Super Bowl party.  You’ve met him before, know he makes a mint and should throw one heckuva bash.  He’ll probably even have those mini-hot dogs wrapped in crescent rolls and a plasma screen television, but you can’t diss your boys.

So you’re in a bind.  The doctor’s party will have its merit, but having to explain the principles of pass interference to those who don’t understand football isn’t always worth the free liquor.   While your friend’s couch may have fleas, at least he has a keen knowledge of the sport.

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I coached youth sports a few years back.

I was living in Orlando and decided to volunteer some of my spare time at the downtown YMCA.  I coached boys 11-13 years old and can say without hesitation, it was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.

I’ll spare you the details of how my team ended up winning the championship or how I wrote a letter to our team captain’s school headmaster asking to allow him to play in the championship game or about how I called several last-minute full-court presses in the title game to create turnovers and uncontested layups to win us the title or how I fought back the tears as I announced each of my players by name during the trophy ceremony.  Good screenplay, huh?

Continue reading "To Coach Or Not To Coach... Should Never Be A Question"