Doing what you love

 

I am not retired. There. I’ve said it. Again. For about the millionth time.

Sure, I’m old enough and yes, it does seem like I’ve been around here forever. I guess since I’m no longer on the MHS football sidelines on Friday night, folks have assumed I retired.

I didn’t. You can still find me at the clinic at Cherokee. Five days a week. And although you probably won’t see me on a sidelines on a Friday night, I’m actually still out there in that arena too.

Back up a bit. To 2020 to be exact. I had announced that would be my last season at Maryville High. Even though I had tried to keep it a secret, Coach Nick White announced it after a football game that “this was Joe Black’s last time on the sidelines for a Maryville-Alcoa game.”

Uh, thanks Nick. I had hoped to just finish the season and move on. Didn’t happen.

So then this newspaper picks up on the story and runs an article about it and, well, the assumption for most of Blount County was that I was retiring. I wasn’t.

I had always said that I would quit my day job before I would give up my work on the sidelines and courtside at games but it didn’t work out that way.  I quit most of the sidelines stuff but stayed in the clinic.

There were several factors. August and September had gotten physically demanding for me. I’m pretty fit but there are a lot of candles on that birthday cake. I would get home from football practice, eat dinner, and head to bed. Too many nights.

And then there was the family piece. My lovely and tolerant wife had put up with this lifestyle for almost 40 years. She deserved more of me. And we’ve made the best of it.

I also have seven grandkids and some of them deserved more of my time. My tennis player. My football player. The artist/runner that left for college this week. The little surprise and namesake. All of them.

But you’re still going to see me show up on the sidelines from time to time. We’ve got a great staff (it’s come a long way since it was only me and Sharon Wood) but they can’t always be everywhere for everything.

That’s what happened this week. Our folks needed help covering a middle school football game this week and I jumped at the chance. I even got to take the 14 year old soccer player with me. He got to see some of what I do.

It was a gorgeous night, with just a hint of fall showing its face with cooler temperatures. And then at the end of the second play of the game, a player from the visiting team stayed down. Face down and not moving.

I’m immediately in full on emergency mode. As I reach this kid, his coach said “he’s out.” Sure enough, this young athlete was unconscious.  I checked his breathing and pulse (fine) and then, as he slowly regained consciousness, I pinned him to the ground, keeping him immobilized. That’s the protocol, which is for his protection.

It also means a spine board and ambulance ride. This is the thing parents dread.  It’s a scary moment. This 14 year old kid was frightened but calm. I felt good that he was going to be OK—he could move everything and felt OK.

As the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance, players from both teams swarmed the field and surrounded the ambulance. As they waited for the ambulance to leave, both teams took a knee for a prayer, led by the home team’s coach.

I later learned that he was doing well and was going to be discharged from hospital later that night. I’m really glad he’s going to be OK.  I’m glad I was there with the skillset to take care of him

But it also means I’m not going to retire any time soon. I still have something to offer.

 

Imagine a World...

 

I’ve got to admit something. I can be a pretty emotional guy. Keep in mind that I grew up in an era where men didn’t show their emotions. Men never cried. Not in public anyway.

But I found myself really getting misty-eyed over so many moments during the Olympics. The joy. The sadness. The jubilation. The disappointment. The dreams fulfilled.  The dreams dashed.

I’m thankful to have been able to watch so much of the events from Paris. Thank you Covid (I guess). Actually, Covid didn’t hit me that hard—just chest congestion and lack of energy.

I’m fortunate that I have a really great live-in caregiver (my wife) and colleagues at work that I knew were taking good care of my patients. I have a latitude not enjoyed by everyone. I didn’t have to worry about my next meal or paying the rent.

So, I was able to enjoy these Olympics.  I watched Steph Curry single-handedly guarantee victory for the US men’s basketball team. With the US team behind much of the game, the team from France was poised for a huge upset when Steph hit four straight threes to seal the win for the US.

His fourth, coming while double-teamed from well beyond the arc, with a third player from France stepping over to help, will go down as one of the greatest shots in Olympic basketball history.

The US women’s basketball team was also pushed to the precipice by a team from France but somehow pulled it out. Same with the US women’s soccer team. A new set of soccer stars were born on that pitch.

When Sha’Carri Richardson glanced over on the final stretch of the women’s 4x100m race, it was a moment for the ages. She had taken the baton in fourth place but left no question who that race belonged to.

When Tara Davis-Woodhall ran to her husband’s hug after clinching the long jump gold, their shared joy was pure bliss. If you didn’t know it, he’s a Paralympic athlete himself.

Athletes from tiny places winning their country’s first medal of any kind simply must be celebrated. The purity of the effort and the dedication it took to get there made so many moments memorable.

But my favorite moment in all these Olympics had nothing to do with what was happening in the competition. Late in the women’s gold medal Beach Volleyball match between Canada and Brazil, words were exchanged between the competitors. It appeared to be quite heated, with an official stepping in to separate the two.

Then the crowd, prompted by the stadium DJ, started singing “Imagine,” John Lennon’s 1971 hit.

“Imagine all the people, living for today. Imagine there’s no countries, it isn’t hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for and no religion too. Imagine all the people, living in peace.”

The Olympics help us realize that we are all part of the human race. Through these athletes, we can hopefully grasp that people all around the world want the same things. Love. Family. Happiness.

When they lose and their family cries with them, we feel that. It doesn’t matter what country they are from. When they overcome huge odds and realize their dreams, we celebrate with them, regardless of the flag on their uniform. When they run over, seeking a face in the crowd, maybe a spouse or their mama or daddy, we realize just how very human they are.

With the hate and divisiveness, with war and hunger and poverty, it does us good to realize how profoundly we are all alike. There is hope.

…and the world will be as one.

Paris Olympics

 

I’ve been stuck at home most of this week. Covid struck again.  After almost four years of no Covid for me, I’ve had it twice this year. No idea where it came from but I’m in contact with a lot of people on any given day.

But with self-isolation and Paxlovid, I’m on the mend. The silver lining is that I have been able to watch a lot of the Paris Olympics this week.  And it has been an exciting week.

Watching Gabby Thomas run is watching grace and power in motion.  Noah Lyles, same thing. Julien Alfred, winning St. Lucia’s first medal ever, is poetry when she runs. Grant Holloway on the hurdles-he makes it look easy.

What Simone Biles is able to do is amazing. Did you see how high she got on her vault? Unreal. Alice D’Amato of Italy on the balance beam? Magical! Katie Ledecky. The most medals for any woman in Olympic history, yet, she seems like every girl next door.

Cole Hocker was not on anyone’s radar in the men’s 1500 m race yet took that inside route to gold. All the pre-race conversation was about British runner Josh Kerr and Norway’s Jakob Ingebrigtsen. No one gave much thought to the diminutive Hocker from Indianapolis.

And here’s the really cool part—there is a Blount County connection to Cole. Marty Sonnefeldt, who lives here, was an All-American and National Champion cross country runner at UT in the 70’s. His son Matt is Cole Hocker’s agent and was in Paris for that race.

The overall athleticism demonstrated in volleyball is quite something to behold, especially beach volleyball. Just imagine two people to a side, covering the entire court. Amazing!

There are stories everywhere. Sacrifices made. Disappointments redeemed. Athletes that pay the price, whatever the price may be.

The Olympics are also an opportunity for us to watch sports that we only witness at the Olympics. Team Handball. Slalom canoeing. Fencing. Track cycling.  Synchronized swimming. Even gymnastics gets the attention it deserves only once every four years.

The Olympic Games also expose us to the people of the award. If we open our eyes, we will realize that there are human beings just like us all around the world. Athletes from Senegal, Algeria, Bahrain, Iraq, and Kazakhstan.  From Estonia, Slovenia, and Ukraine. Places you have to look up on a map to even know where they are. Incredible athletes from Jamaica.

People that look like we do, love like we do, hurt like we do. People that face the struggles that we face and strive for the success that we chase every day.

Put Cuban Mijain Lopez, winner of five Olympic gold medals in wrestling, in a USA uniform and he’s a national hero for us. Same thing for Polish volleyballer Tomasz Fornal. And you have to pull for Brazil’s Rebeca Andrade--even the US team did.

The Olympics can humanize people that we might not understand, that might even be considered our “enemies.” Chinese divers. Oh, so divine. North Korean athletes have families that love them too. The Olympics give us the opportunity to celebrate everyone, nationalities aside.

Congratulations to ALL the athletes.  Getting there is an incredible feat. And thank you for the opportunity to see the world, if just for a little while.

9 Coaches/1 Dad

 

“I’ve got nine coaches and one dad.”  Those words, spoken by my son when he was a high school sophomore, changed my parenting techniques forever. 

That comment came on the heels of what was probably a post-practice lecture on what he had done at football practice. I was the Athletic Trainer for his high school football team, so I was always around his practices and games.

I’ve been around football pretty much my whole life. I played. I coached. And for most of my adult life, I’ve served on the sidelines for high school and college football. I do think that I know a little bit about the game. I’m sure the ride home after practice every day was just one more coaching session.

I recall the exact circumstances of that comment. He was sitting in my recliner in our den and I’m sure he had just listened to me trying to coach him up. Before that, he had always listened, tolerating me, I guess.

I was one of those dads that coached every youth sport team that my kids were involved in. I remember when they were little, before youth sports days, I always swore that I was not going to be “that” dad. I was going to let others coach my kids.

But some bad experiences with youth sports coaches early on drove me to volunteer to coach. My first team was my son’s t-ball team, and then I never looked back.

I coached baseball, softball, basketball, and football. I re-started the Blount Stars AAU basketball program that had been dormant around here for years. I ran that program and held a variety of offices at Maryville Little League for years.

My buddy John Theriot ran the softball program (where I coached) and I ran the baseball program (where he coached). We practically lived at the little league park.  There was the little league softball team that I coached where I had 7 adorable little 12 year old girls that all reached puberty the same day. That was fun.

I can remember traveling with AAU basketball teams.  Again, I ran the program and coached both boys and girls teams. In Memphis for a state tournament, I took a dozen 12 year old boys for ribs at The Rendezvous, where the waiters, usually not apt to put up with much, seemed to relish taking care of this bunch of hungry boys.

A year later, I took the same bunch of boys to Middlesboro, Kentucky for a tournament only to get stranded there by the Blizzard of ’93. We knew snow was predicted but we went anyway. We figured that this worst case would be we would get to play.  We didn’t Everything closed down.

I remember the kids and the parents and a lot about the travel, but most of the memories about the games themselves have faded. Oh, I remember Adam Daves, one of the best shooters I have ever seen at a young age, lighting up a real good team at a Chattanooga tournament. I think he got 40.

I remember thinking that Ricky Upton would surely make a great football player while playing basketball in the state tournament in Memphis. He did. And Robert Penson was super talented but wouldn’t keep his shirttail in.

So, it’s time to get to the point. Parents, enjoy the games your children play. You’re not going to make them great athletes. When you can, let someone else coach them. Dad/Mom coaches can be OK, but someone that has been coaching a long time and who doesn’t have a kid on the team is most often a better scenario.

And take it from me, don’t coach them on the ride home. Be their parent. Be their support system. Don’t talk about how the coach is an idiot because they aren’t starting.  Ever.

Help them learn to love the game, whatever the game. That’s your best chance for success, on the field and off.

Olympic Moment

 

The year was 1996 and the Summer Olympics were in Atlanta. For several years leading up to ’96, I had pursued a spot on the Sports Medicine Team for the Atlanta Olympics.

That included a couple of stints working at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs and serving on the sports medicine staff for the Pan-American games and the World University Games.

I was fortunate enough to be a part of the sports medicine team for those ’96 Olympic Games in Atlanta, serving primarily at a basketball practice facility with time at the Poly-Clinic in the Olympic Village.

Along this path I did some really cool stuff that was a bit out of my wheelhouse. I worked the National Flat Track Inline Skating Championship and the Taekwando National Championships.  I spent some time with the US Olympic Weightlifting Team.

At the tryouts for the World University Games men’s basketball team, I watched in awe as 15 men, all 6’10” or taller took the floor. It was quite the spectacle. An 18 year old Luke Walton was there as was Coach Roy Williams who was at Kansas at the time.

I sat on a couch eating burned hotdogs with Georgetown legend John Thompson, at the home of the Director of USA Basketball. I have sat on the mat while the Romanian women’s gymnastic team practiced. I saw the Dream Team play, watching from the nosebleed section. I saw Tinker Juarez race mountain bikes.

I made friends with the athletic trainers for the Tunisian men’s volleyball team and for the Yugoslavian basketball team. I met Dikembe Mutombo who sat with men while the Congolese women’s basketball team practice. He had bought them practice uniforms when they arrived in Atlanta with none.

Along the way, I met Bonnie Blair, Evander Holyfield, and Nitro from the original American Gladiator show.  But one of the most impressive athletes I ever met was never famous and never in the Olympics

Her name escapes me but I met her in 1995 at the Olympic Training Center. She had switched to cycling after conquering snow skiing as a several time World Champion. She was in Colorado Springs training for the ’96 Paralympics when she and her riding partner wrecked on the tandem bicycle they were riding.

Completely blind since she was a child, this young lady was stoic as I spent a couple of hours cleaning out her many wounds from the wreck, with her German Shepherd guide dog watching my every move. 

She didn’t flinch as I cleaned out gravel and debris. Her dog made me nervous despite her assurances that he likely would leave me alone unless he thought I was hurting her.

She was the “pusher” on a tandem bicycle, riding with a sighted “driver” who was in front. Can you imagine how terrifying it must be to be in that kind of wreck while totally blind?  She was amazing.

Her snow skiing record was legendary at that time. Under the tutelage of her dad (who was also there watching every move I made as I cleaned her wounds), she became famous for skiing in front of a sighted skier, responding to verbal cues about when to turn.

Prior to her, most blind skiers followed their sighted guide. With her father skiing behind her, she revolutionized the sport before switching to cycling. Oh, and she had a Harvard Ph.D. already and was attending law school at UCLA.

From Indianapolis to Colorado Springs to Atlanta, my own Olympic journey has been amazing, taking this country boy from Loudon, Tennessee to places and experiences he could never have dreamed of—not even in his wildest dreams.

When watching the Olympics in Paris, I will think about the people more than anything, knowing that we share just a little bit of the Olympic history.