Another Chapter from my Coaching Book

 This chapter will probably come at the end of the book and will be titled "No Names Please." 

            The following are a few of the coaching stories from over the years that are a bit on the risqué side. Names are left out or changed to protect the innocent, the married, those with ex-wives, those with children, and those now in positions of authority. I observed some, heard about others, was involved in one or two, was involved in another one or two but won’t admit to it.

 

            The buses were filled and ready to leave for a road game with everyone in attendance except the star quarterback. His car was parked in the players lot, but he wasn’t on the bus. The head coach sitting in the first row of the first bus turned to one of the Graduate Assistants and said, “Go find him.”

            The GA had no idea where to look but figured he’d start with the QBs car. As he got closer he noticed some movement inside. He peered into the driver’s window and saw the quarterback sitting back I his seat with a big smile on his face, and his girlfriends face buried in his crotch.

            The QB rolled down the window just as his girlfriend looked up and smiled, “Don’t worry, Coach. I’m almost done.” The QB rolled up the window the smile on his face getting larger.

            The GA hustled back to the bus to report to the Head Coach. “Where is he?” The Coach demanded.

            “Don’t worry, “ replied the GA. “He’s coming.”

 

The coaches had put the players to bed and seeing is that the game was a 4:00 start the next day, a few of the coaches decided to go out for a beer. They swiped the keys to one of the school vans and headed for a bar district they heard about downtown. They found a parking spot and got out, and it seemed like they were right in the middle of things. One of the coaches went into a close by convenient store, came out with a 12 pack, and the enjoyed the warm autumn night and the surrounding crowd that was having a good time.

Suddenly out of nowhere appeared a girl of maybe of 16 on a bicycle.

“Any of you guys want some action?” she said to a surprised crowd. 

One of the coaches sitting on the back bumper of the van said in jest, “How much?”

She responded, “Hundred bucks.”

 Everyone laughed and the coach on the bumper responded, “What do you get for a hundred bucks?’

Before he could move she was on him like a panther on a prey, trying to undo his belt buckle. 

“Hey, what you doing?” the coach responded, pushing her off his body.

Just as suddenly as she appeared, she hopped on her bike and disappeared. The coaches we all laughing heartily, then suddenly the coach on the bumper said, “Son of a bitch. “

“Whang this for a while. t? 

“She grabbed my wallet.” And sure enough, while she was wrestling with his belt buckle with one hand she reached in to his trousers with the other and stole his billfold.

I don’t know what was funnier, retelling the story about the hooker on the bicycle, or listening to my coaching colleague trying to explain to his wife back home why she had to cancel their credit cards.

 

We were flying west (commercial, of course) I think to St. Louis to play a game. I was sitting on the aisle seat with one of our young, cocky coaches sitting next to me. Our stewardess was in her mid to late thirties and very attractive, with a killer smile and great disposition about her.

The young guy next to me was enthralled. “Boy, she is hot,” he said to me each time she passed us. A young guy full of testorone and bullshit. 

Finally, he said to me, “Excuse, have to go to the head.” He squeezed past me and went down the aisle towards the bathroom. 

I dozed off and then woke up and realized the seat next to me had been empty for a while. Finally, he returned with a slight smirk on his face.

“Where were you?” I asked.

“In the john.”

“You are always this happy after you go to the bathroom.?”

“I didn’t go to the bathroom. I broke one off. That stewardess just got me too worked up.”

 

So life was rolling along pretty good for the coach as he approached his fortieth birthday. He was the head coach of one of Ohio’s better small college football teams, and he was well liked by the players, administrators, and parents. He should’ve known things were going too smooth.

He had gotten married soon after college to his sweetheart, and both of their kids were now off to college themselves. One day he came home for dinner and over the meatloaf his wife told him, “I’m not happy. I want a divorce.”

He wasn’t the first coach to ever hear that from his wife. He wasn’t the first guy who ever heard that.

He was stunned. Things moved very swiftly the next few weeks, and Coach realized that she had been planning this for a while. She quickly had a new job and a new apartment in Columbus, the big city down the freeway. She was never really happy in a college town, too much gossip, too much small-town politics. She also had a buyer lined up for their dream house they had bought when the kids were young. Before he knew it, he was divorced and homeless.

He was in a depressing funk, and everyone around him knew it. Luckily it was the off season, and things didn’t flow over onto the football field.

He did know that a lot of the passion had slipped away in their marriage. He’d fall sleep in the living room watching film, and by the time he’d get upstairs she’d be sound asleep. He did realize that it was over and sooner rather than later he should put it behind him.

And soon word got out that Coach was available, and the single women of the town, from middle age divorcees to twenty something barmaids, soon had a new target. Those who had known him genuinely liked him, and those who knew his wife didn’t think much of her. Most women who knew him when he was married as a great catch, while she would never pass up a chance to criticize him. He was always away from home, she would complain. Spending more time and caring more about that damn football team than his own family. 

In short time he was soon inundated with invites, to stop for a drink after school or to come over for a home cooked meal. He was very uncertain what to do. He didn’t know what to do after 20 years of marriage to the same women. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he said to me. “I can’t start dating again.”

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t know what to do. I haven’t been with anyone but Carol for twenty years.”

“Don’t worry, my son,” I replied. “It will all come back to you. It’s just like riding a bike.”

And ride a bike he did. Whether it was Sally down at the dry cleaners, Mary who cut his hair, or some of the women who hung around the places we would stop to have a beer or two at the end of the day, he found no lack of female attention and got more and more comfortable with it. He couldn’t believe the lack of cat and mouse interaction between consenting adults. He always had to watch what he said or did around his wife, but not around these other women that suddenly filled up his life.

His depression over his divorce was soon in the rear-view mirror. I knew he had put his marriage completely in the past when he walked in my office one Monday morning and asked, “Why is it every woman in the world gives head except the one I was married to for twenty years?”

 

One winter I drove to Columbus for a recruiting fair at one of the big hotels downtown. There was a recruiting fair in one of the ballrooms, some sort of sports business show going on in another, and my friend John was playing music in the bar. After I was done doing my coaching duties, I sat down at the bar, ordered a beer, and started to enjoy the music.

The guy sitting next to me was impressed that I knew the singer, and we started a conversation. He just assumed I was a coach, and he told me he was in sports marketing. Back then I really wasn’t sure what that was, so he told me the latest project his company had participated in.

“The next time you see highlights of a NASCAR race on SportsCenter, check out the ads on the front quarter panels and you will see both the Viagra and Cialis logos. We brokered that deal. We will be on all the cars next fall.”

“Wow. Does that stuff really work?”

“Does it really work, my friend?” And he went into a twenty-minute soliloquy about his experiences with Viagra. We spent an hour or so b.s.ing about this and that. I remember I introduced him to John during one of his breaks, and he even bought a couple of his C.D.s. I remember we exchanged business cards, and we went off in different directions. I headed back to Cleveland; he went off to another trade show in Pittsburgh.

That fall a box was mailed to me c/o the football office at John Carroll. Inside was a note signed “Good Luck this season. Tell John I’ve really enjoyed the McGuffey Lane CDs.” And I realized the box was from my sports marketing acquaintance from earlier in the year. Inside the box was perhaps twenty or so packages, half Viagra, half Cialis. Each contained about three dozen pills. 

I had to say, that up until that time in my life, I had never needed anything in the men’s performance department. Even as I started to sprint through middle age, I was still just naturally horny, I guess. I through the box in the trunk of my car and forgot about it.

It was later that season that we were playing in southern Ohio, probably against Wilmington or Wittenberg. When playing in Ohio late in the season you must be prepared to play in 70 degrees and sunny, as well as 35 and a touch of snow. The weather changes from day to day, and there is really no logic to it. All it takes is just getting caught once without the right game outfit and you wouldn’t do it again. I always took a bag full of clothes for a variety of weather. I was really dragging. It was a Friday; I taught all day and then had practiced. Usually, I would just plop my butt on the bus and fall asleep. But earlier in the week I had made a promise to take an old friend out dinner on Friday night in Columbus, so I was driving separately.

I ended taking my friend Lisa out to dinner at one of the places in German Village and I knew I was in trouble. All through dinner she was sending my signals that if I wanted a night of passion, she was available. We had been lovers on and off over the years depending on her marriage status. She had a habit of marrying an asshole every few years and realizing it after about six months of bliss. 

Like I said I was exhausted. Taught all day, practice, the drive to Central Ohio. All I wanted was to feel my head on a pillow, not my hands on a pretty attractive middle-aged woman. What was I going to do?

I followed her to her place. I parked behind her in her drive and went to grab my toilet kit out of my trunk and then it hit me. Why should I be a disappointment to poor Lisa? Poor thing just got divorced again, probably hadn’t had sex in months. Why should I make her feel good about herself? Because it was at that moment, reaching for my shaving kit, that I saw the box filled with Viagra and Cialis. 

I reached in, open one of the containers, grabbed a handful of pills, and shoved them in my mouth. I had some bottled water in the trunk too, so I opened one and washed down the pills. It was dark out. I had no idea how many pills I swallowed. I had no idea if it was Viagra or Cialis or something else.

For the next 40 hours I was the king of the universe. The problem was I couldn’t sleep, sit, or drive comfortably. Thank God the next day was a chilly day. I think the game even went into overtime, but all I really remember was constantly pulling down my jacket to cover up the pup tent in my trousers. It wasn’t until Wednesday that I was able to sleep comfortably. And they tell you to call your doctor if it lasts for more than four hours.