Nothing But Iron: Lessons of a Bench-Seasoned Dad June 11, 2006 Steven R. Lagman, M.D., C.A.S.W. As it pertains to basketball, the term off season is a misnomer. Unexpectedly and happily, I find myself coaching Patrick and his soon-to-be sophomore cohorts in a summer league that runs Tuesdays and Thursdays. I will coach Connor in an eighth-grade league on Fridays. Patrick is also on a traveling AAU team that I don’t coach. Though I am excited my kid made the team, my initial exposure to AAU basketball did not leave me acclimated. It was only two-and-a-half games worth, so I forced myself to remain open minded. I do place high value on exposure to excellent competition–and it definitely has that–but I was concerned that this brand of basketball is more about individuals than teams. Kelly, who has seen many more games of the AAU label than I, assured me that I am wrong. On her counsel, I was patient. At the next tournament I was treated to good basketball, which including ample passing and appropriate shot selection. On the subject of patience, AAU ball has already offered an important life-lesson for my kid. In the two close games, both of which his team lost, Patrick was almost as satisfied with his playing time as George Bush is with presidential approval ratings. Those of us who parent athletes, and especially those of us who coach them, know that it is difficult for parents to be objective. It is natural to think our kid is better than someone else’s kid, or maybe even all the other someone else’s kids. One of my fellow coaches told me that the mother of one reserve player on a tournament team said emphatically that her son was the "best point guard in the league." For sure Bart (not his real name, but a damn good pseudonym) was a likeable competitor and with good potential, but I would never have reached the mom’s assessment by pure observation. The kid ended up quitting the team after he was one of two kids asked to sit out a tournament in order to control roster size. I could not help but pity the lost opportunity. Patrick, in the heat of the moment, was ready to quit his team too, which was good, because it gave me the chance to teach him some of the lessons I learned as a bench player. We talked about commitment. About quitting. About regret. About patience. About the value of exposure to high-level of competition. I lectured too much, and apologized for that, pointing out that it was my job as his dad to periodically be a pain in the ass. My first task was to remind him that I still thought he was an excellent player without empowering him to be small minded. I then delivered these lessons: 1) Life is not always fair. 2) There are better ways of dealing with injustice than quitting. 3) I reminded him that he had missed many practices to attend his driver’s ed courses. In classic 15-year-old logic, he argued that everyone else missed just as many practices. I wondered, since he wasn’t there, how he knew that. 4) I doubt he would ever ask, but, perhaps in preparation for his own fatherhood, I told him (paraphrased) that I will never talk to a coach about my son’s playing time. I think he already knew that he alone must earn his minutes. 5) I suggested he use his anger about bench time as a motivator. 6) I offered a lesson on perspective. He started almost every game of his freshman year. So many of his friends spent so many more minutes on the bench. It is not as harmful as he might think to see things from the other side. It would help him appreciate his good fortune. 7) I said that, as a player, his needs were best served by interpreting bench time as a statement that there are five or more players who better meet the needs of the team than he does. Thinking that will make him a better, stronger-minded player. Because I am the dad, I reminded him that I personally did not think of him as an LVP candidate, but that there was value in him viewing bench time in its most literal interpretation. 8) Last and foremost, I told him that his job was to support his team in any way he could. If that was by cheering from the bench, so be it. He does not know this, but I came very close to coming out of the stands, walking across the court and delivering an embarrassing reprimand when he was the only player to remain seated during a time out. Instead I watched for a moment longer. As if he could sense my urge to scold him, he got up and joined the huddle. At home I showed him a picture that I took during the championship game of Wisconsin's Paradise Jam tournament in November. It was late in second half of the final. The crowd, seated just behind Wisconsin’s bench, was nuts, with screaming fans on their feet, pumping fists and clapping hands because the Badgers held a slim lead with six seconds left. In the foreground, was the Badgers bench. Of the players only Joe Krabbenhoft stood to cheer. Some of his teammates were leaning back in their chairs, apparently indifferent to the excitement. Another looked despondent, hunched forward, elbows on knees, chin resting on his hands. I asked my son this simple question: "Which one of these players are you going to be?" He grinned and pointed to Joe. ____________ Nothing But Iron is an amateur sports column. In his heyday the author rode enough pine to qualify him for a high-level job with the U.S. Forest Service. ©2006 DrTM Enterprises. All rights reserved.