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This is Why You Coach
For days, McHale continued to reflect on his decision
to quit. It was agony. He had grown to love his players. Also, recruits
who previously would not look at State were now knocking at the door. But
the other factors, those which brought to Jack McHale's life such excruciating
disorder, would still exist if he did not change careers.
Of the thousands of letters that had poured into
the office, one with a postmark of Brunswick, Maine, had been the most
unexpected of all:
I have learned more in the last several weeks about life, morals,
and integrity than in my entire lifetime. I only wish I had learned it
before. Please know that my new-found beliefs have brought with them tremendous
admiration for you. You are someone who belongs working with young people.
Very truly yours,
Steve Ellovitch.
McHale knew that his decision would soon have to be
revealed. To do anything else would be unfair to State, and hamper its
recruiting and long-range planning. Yet he was experiencing second thoughts.
The agony was even greater. Once again, he sought his wife's advice.
"Jack, you've been a coach for all of our married
life. I know your feelings of regret about the family, but you've been
a good father, a good husband, and we've adjusted to the life. Listen,
whatever decision you make, we'll stand by it, and be happy with it."
"Honey, I just don't know what to do," McHale shrugged.
He wanted to be by himself. As he got into his car
and drove toward the city, he exited the Williamsburg Bridge and found
himself driving slowly through his old neighborhood, past St. John's Parish
Hall and the old tenement on 79th Street where he had grown up.
He slowly pulled his car two blocks farther and
stopped beside his favorite refuge as a youngster, the Greylag Playground.
As the car came to a halt by the curb, McHale looked out on the court.
It was a chilly April day with a slight drizzle coming down. There on the
court, alone, was a boy no more than twelve years old. As he lofted his
push shot softly toward the basket, McHale could see that he was a boy
with special grace, one who had already spent many hours on the asphalt
court honing his skills.
As the ball gently embraced the nylon cords, the
swish sound speaking back to this boy of promise, he suddenly looked up
and saw McHale staring at him from the car. The boy stopped and gasped.
He knew it was the State coach. While McHale did not much care for much
of the homage paid him since the NCAA Championship, the reaction of the
boy brought a feeling of quiet pride.
McHale opened the car door and walked out onto a
place that felt immediately familiar.
"Would you like to shoot some, Coach?" asked the boy, his eyes widening.
McHale took the ball and sunk a twenty-footer, the feeling of excitement
still there. He then walked over to the boy and could see on his face the
same hope and exuberance McHale had felt on this same court more than thirty
years ago.
"What's your name, son?"
"Matt Tyler," the boy replied.
"Matt, have you ever heard of Earl Monroe?"
"Yes, sir. He played for the New York Knicks when
they won the championship in '73."
"But you weren't even born in 1973," said McHale.
"But I know all about the Knicks," said the boy
softly.
"Well, Earl Monroe had a move that I'm going to
show you. It's a move that helped him to score a great many baskets. It's
called the spin dribble."
With that, McHale put the ball down and said to
the boy. "The first thing we're going to learn is the proper footwork."
For several minutes, with no ball, McHale gently walked the boy through
the foot movements of the spin dribble. The boy, attentive to McHale's
every word, learned quickly.
"OK, now we'll pick up the ball and bring all of
the parts into a whole," said McHale.
McHale patiently took the boy through the proper
sequence of the move. At first the boy faltered, but with McHale's gentle
and skillful prodding, he got closer. . .and closer. Finally, thirty minutes
later, the boy executed the move to perfection. As the ball dropped through
the net, Jack McHale felt that unparalleled feeling which coaching sometimes
brings. He had shared a special bit of knowledge that would link the two
forever.
McHale approached the boy and gently stroked his
hair, "I have to go now, Matt. It's been real nice meeting you.
" He walked toward his car. As he pulled his keys
from his pocket, he turned to wave to the boy who was still standing there,
awestruck by his chance encounter with the famous coach. The boy's eyes
showed that he wanted to say something but didn't quite know how to start.
"Is everything all right?" asked McHale.
A smile slowly took root. The boy then said, with
utter conviction, "Mr. McHale, in six years I'll be coming to State to
play for you." "I'll be waiting Matt," the coach replied.
"Are You Watching, Adolph Rupp?" is available at $18.95 each. Please
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