I Believe...

I’m going to be all over the place today. Bear with me.

I believe that we all have a soul, that sports provide great life lessons, that a person with friends is blessed, that we need to eat the cake, and that Benton’s bacon is a gift from heaven.

I believe that the ’69 Mets were a miracle, that the ’55 Chevy was the first great vehicle, that sushi proves that we need to be open-minded about what we eat, and that Blount County is the greatest place to live in the world.

I don’t believe that curiosity kills the cat. I believe that curiosity keeps us young. I believe that you should never deter a child from asking questions. Same for adults. If you’re curious, you keep learning. And in these days and times, if you aren’t still learning, you’re getting behind

I believe that you can teach an old dog new tricks. I’m still learning new tricks and I’m definitely an old dog. I keep getting asked when I’m going to retire. Who said that we all need to retire at 65? I guess if you don’t keep learning new tricks you should give it up.

I believe we all need to travel. We need to see how other people live and, hopefully, what makes them tick. When I travel, I want to get out and meet local people.

I’m convinced that we all need to be in the minority at some time in our lives. This became crystal clear a couple of weeks ago when a young friend, who is herself an immigrant from Africa, was thrilled to be watching a basketball game in which two of the players had also moved here from Africa. She was so happy for the chance to be around people that looked like her, who grew up like she grew up, who understood where she came from.

Mrs. Geraldine Upton taught me years ago about the problems of always being in a minority. If you want to truly learn what that is like, you need to put yourself in that situation. Maybe it’s simply going somewhere where they don’t speak your language.

I believe that if you always stay within your comfort zone, you will fail to grow as a person. You don’t have to go crazy but you need to try new things.

I don’t believe in regrets. In the first place, don’t do anything that you know you will regret later. But we all make mistakes (goodness knows I’ve made my share) and if your intentions were good, then you should never regret that.

I mostly believe that hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard. Now if Randall Cobb doesn’t train for 10 years, he will still beat me at pretty much anything I might spend that decade training for. Such are the benefits of extraordinary talent. But if it’s close, hard work wins out.

I believe that opposites attract, that laughter is the best medicine or, if it’s not, then it makes whatever ails you go down easier, and I believe that if life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

The How

Recently someone asked me not “how” I write this column every week, but “why.”  I get the “how” question all the time. Especially if they learn that I’ve been writing it for over 33 years. Thirty-three years! That boggles my mind. 52 weeks a year, although in the early years, it came out only a couple of times a month. Somebody calculated what that means in numbers and came up with over a million words. (No English teacher I ever had thought I had that in me.)

 The answer to the “how” is usually that I just sit down and write what is in my head (or on my heart).

But the answer to the “why” is not so automatic. I guess I’m a teacher at heart. My first college degree was in education but I was really wanting to go into physical therapy and needed a good undergraduate vehicle. A lot about physical education made sense to me. Anatomy. Kinesiology. Physiology of Exercise. All that was a good background for physical therapy school. So this space is likely that underlying teacher in me.

At one point in my life, I thought I wanted to be a preacher. Even made that known publicly. Nothing would have thrilled my mother more. Alas, that was just not where I was supposed to go. But goodness knows I sure get preachy in this space. Maybe we all find our ministry in different places.

One thing that my upbringing gave me was an overwhelming desire to make a difference in the world. I’m not sure where that came from, probably a combination of things.  Probably Boy Scouts. My church for sure. I talked about a lot of those things a couple of weeks ago.

In thinking about the “why,” I realize that a lot of it is my firm belief that sports are important. I am a prime example of how sports provide incredible life lessons. I am the beneficiary of those lessons. It has given me the career that I have and helped make me the man that I am.

Part of my “why” is that I want sports to be good for every kid out there. And I want sports to be safe for them. When I write about coaches and parents, my focus is really on providing what is best for the kids.

There are those that will say that sports are inherently dangerous and something to be avoided. That injuries accumulate and then come back to haunt you when you’re older. Not on my watch.

The decisions that I make on the field, on the court, or in the clinic always reflect the long haul. In other words, I will not let a young athlete do anything that will adversely affect their health in years to come. It’s always been that way. I never wanted to look at a 40-something with health issues that I could have done something about.

I’m not going to be around (professionally, anyway) to see today’s athletes in their 40’s but that responsibility to them is still just as strong.

So when parents ask the question “should I allow my child to play,” I answer with an emphatic “yes.” First, if we don’t learn to be active as children, we are unlikely to be active as adults. And sports are our best vehicle for developing active children. The alternative is a sedentary lifestyle and the heart disease, obesity, diabetes, and early death that often accompany that.

Secondly, the lessons learned in sports can help us in our jobs, in our role as parents, in our community. Sports teach us how to be a good teammate, which translates to being a good co-worker. Sports teach us the value of hard work. Sports teach us how to be coached. Sports teach us that it is important to be a part of something bigger than ourselves.

Coaching the Kids

When I was a teenager, we were always looking for a place to play pickup basketball. There was an outdoor court at Mr. Don P. Smith’s house. Same at the Junior High. We had “ways” to get into two gyms in town that had long been closed down.

Two of my grandchildren are playing Parks & Rec basketball this year. One set of games is at the old Everett School gym, the other at old Springbrook. I appreciate the fact that our local governments saw fit to preserve these valuable assets which are of greatest value to our young folks. But this column isn’t about facilities but about people.

Just yesterday, I watched Grandkid #2 playing basketball in the Parks & Rec league at Springbrook.  One of the referees was Frederick St. Hill who is a high school official for both football and basketball yet here was, on a Saturday morning patiently calling the game and helping these youngsters understand the game.

Later, I watched Grandkid #4 playing at Everett and was thrilled to see Joey Winders and Mark McGill as the referees. The children of these two men were long since finished with youth sports yet here they were, on a Saturday morning, doing the thankless job of refereeing basketball for 8 and 9 year-old kids. That is an amazing level of dedication to youth sports in this community.

I’ve known Joey for a lot of years. We first met at Maryville Little League. Joey had started coaching girls’ t-ball there in 1982. Now this is important—Joey wasn’t a parent coaching his kid’s team. Joey didn’t even have girls. He actually didn’t even have any children at that time. He was simply that dedicated to promoting youth sports in this community.

And he’s still at it. He has coached the Maryville Southerners in the Parks & Rec youth football program for 33 years.  He coached them before his sons got there and he’s coaching them long after they’re done. He does it for the kids.

Don Sentell is another example of selflessness.  Don has coached youth football for 55 years! During that time, he has coached multiple generations. That’s an amazing record of service.

Don’s philosophy is that having a parent coach a team isn’t always the best option. He seeks out assistant coaches that are interested in young athletes but who aren’t parents of his players. Junior Masingo has coached with Don for 51 of those years.

Ricky Maples is another one still coaching. And he never had children of his own. What he has is a legacy of being a part of the lives of a lot of other people’s kids. I coached with Ricky when my own son was playing and am grateful for the experience.

I know for a fact that it would be impossible to have youth sports teams without parents willing to coach. I am convinced that it can help make you a better parent. I think it did that for me. If you look around, there are men and women in our community that are dedicated to providing the youth sports experience that is so vital to the development of our children. These that I mention have just gone way above and beyond the call of duty.

But if you are a parent/coach, let me give you a little advice. Be more teacher and less coach. Teach fundamentals. Teach teamwork. If you yell, you’re doing it wrong. Treat everyone fairly, especially your own kids. Let everybody play.

I had a parent file a complaint on me one time for playing a handicapped player as a goalie. I was “destroying the integrity of the game.” The youngster wanted to play goalie. I let him. It remains one of my prouder moments.

Imagine that you’re the worst player on the team. Be the coach that you wish you had.

Shaped by My Hometown

I was inspired this week by Coach Dabo Swiney’s words offered during a press conference following his football team’s national championship game. (Yes…I’m a huge Clemson fan. You might remember that my son played football there.) He talked about how his hometown of Pelham, Alabama shaped him.

I grew up nearby, in Loudon, Tennessee. If you don’t know Loudon, it is a town of about 5000 and the County Seat of Loudon County. I was shaped by growing up in a small town where I could leave the house in the morning on my bicycle with the simple instruction to be home by dinner. If I ever got out of line, somebody would tell Mama.

I was shaped by my parents. My dad was a little man with only a 6^th grade education but who worked hard until his heart failed him. My mom was this really focused little lady who went to work in a factory when my dad couldn’t. Their work ethic shaped my career.

I was shaped by travel. We didn’t have much and we hardly ever stayed in a motel, picking friends or family to stay with, but I saw the St. Louis Arch being built and Niagara Falls and Daytona Beach while still a child.

I was shaped by my church. My earliest memories all seem to be about the First Baptist Church in Loudon, Tennessee. I thought it was this grand place yet now I find it quite small. Reverend Rainwater was this distinguished man who taught me that God is good.

His wife was a schoolteacher who holds the distinction of being the only teacher to ever spank me. She thought I wasn’t hurrying into the bleachers in the gym quickly enough and gave me a swat on the butt. I must have been 8 or 9 at the time. Probably not a real spanking yet it has stayed with me.

I was shaped by Scouts. First by Cub Scouts and then later by Boy Scouts and Explorer Scouts. Mrs. Patton was our Cub Scout leader. I remember her as a gracious lady, one who lived on the hill and whose husband wore a tie to work but who treated everyone the same. She gave me an example of dignity and equity.

Boy Scouts opened a lot of doors and gave me some memorable experiences. I had been to Boundary Waters Canoe Area twice by age 15 because of Scouts. I was exposed to good men and the outdoors because of Boy Scouts. I learned leadership skills because of Scouting.

I was shaped by football. I was a high school sophomore, lacking self confidence and being a huge underachiever when I overheard the high school football coach tell a bystander that “he can be a good one if he will work at it.”

I learned that if you want something bad enough and are willing to work hard enough at it, you can achieve it. I was never told that I could do great things. Instead I was told “people like you don’t go to college.” My football coach gave me a very different message. He is still my hero today.

I was shaped by my friends. I picked well. Ronnie McNabb was my best friend through most of our years growing up and was later my college roommate. Teddy Randolph was the third piece to our trio and a great guy. We were inseparable for years.

From them I learned to enjoy life. Maybe we did some things we would rather not be known but there is no doubt that all the time that we spent together helped me become the person that I am today. They stayed in our hometown and have built good, solid lives there. I moved away and it worked out pretty well for me too.

I’ll never be a Maryville native but I love it here and consider myself as much a part of the fabric of this community as anybody who doesn’t have deep roots here. It has shaped me as an adult and given me opportunities I would never have had anyplace else. Thank you.

Join a Gym?

If you know me, you know I’m not real big on New Year’s Resolutions. I pursue health with a dogged persistence. Year round. But maybe Resolutions work for you. Great. All I ask is that you don’t be one of those people that joins a gym in January, only to fail to show up in February.

Let me put it another way…I’d love to see you join a gym in January. Any gym. Sure, I have my preferences but that opinion doesn’t count for much. It’s important to get started. But it’s more important to stay with it.

It doesn’t matter much what you do—just do something. Not everybody can walk/run for exercise. Not everybody can ride a bike. Not everybody wants to lift weights or hike in the mountains. But you’ve got to find something. You’ve got to find your thing. Something you will continue to do. Again, it matters little what you do but that you do something.

Move. Lift. Stretch. Live. And if you can find a way to have fun doing it, well then you will be much more likely to continue to do it.

I played basketball for most of my life. Played until I was 59. I loved to play. If you’re old enough, you will know what I mean when I say I was a “Basketball Jones.” In times of stress, I could play basketball and all that stress fell away. It kept me moving. I played until way after it could be said “he’s good for a man his age.” It became more of a “can you believe he’s still playing basketball?”

Finally my knees betrayed me and I knew my basketball days were over. Fortunately, I had the bicycle to fall back on and turned my passion to the bike. The bicycle was not so hard on my knees. I found my way to have fun while exercising.

It’s sort of like the old cliché about work:  If you can’t tell whether it is work or play, you’ve got it made. Same thing with exercise. If it is always work, you can’t/won’t sustain it. There has to be some element of play to it, some element of joy in what you are doing.

Take hiking in the mountains for example. There are trails that you can be on in 20 minutes from downtown Maryville. Gorgeous trails. All it takes is a good pair of boots and the right clothes, most of which are in your closet. Never been to White Oak Sink? You’ve missed out.

Don’t want to ride a bike on the road? The Greenbelt was originally built for bicycles. And the Cades Cove Loop Road (11 miles) is closed at various times to motorized vehicles, making for a perfect biking venue.

Those that are playing Pickleball tell me that I would enjoy it. I just don’t need another thing to do. If you walk the course, golf can be a bit of exercise. Riding a cart, swinging a club, then riding the cart again to your ball just doesn’t cut it. Sorry.

I’m not saying that you have to always have fun exercising. Sometimes you need to work harder, get out of your comfort zone to get better. Sometimes you have to train so that you can enjoy what you do.

The other huge thing to do is to find a partner. Or several of them. Hiking alone is great for some but is better with somebody. Same for biking. The accountability of agreeing to meet someone to exercise will get you out there when you might not feel like it. Or when the weather is questionable.

If you want to live long and stay healthy, you’ve got to get out there and move your body. Resolve now to start down that path and then focus on staying on it. Don’t waste your time by joining a gym in January only to sleep in during February.

Parents Out of Control

I was sitting with one of my granddaughters last week, watching one of her siblings play basketball. Behind us was a dad who yelled at his son the entire game. He was mostly encouraging, but called constantly to his son to give him tips and encourage him to “take it to the rim.” This dad never let up. He yelled The. Entire. Game.

The week before, I had been at a different game, again involving a grandchild. It wasn’t a particularly pretty game. The officials were doing a good job, stopping for teaching moments along the way. I happen to know both officials quite well. They are good men and were taking their Saturday mornings to help out. It would have been impossible to call every foul and whistle every infraction. We would have been there all day.

Sometime late in the game, the coach for one team was absolutely certain that his best player had been fouled. He screamed and gestured in a manner that would have made Bobby Knight proud. I didn’t know him from Adam but I was embarrassed.

Last week I worked a high school basketball game. It was highly competitive and came down to a last second shot but along the way, the visiting team was hit with 5 technical fouls, their best player was ejected, and one of their fans was escorted from the gym.

Here’s what I observed—their students, fans, parents, and school staff members spent the entire game screaming at the officials and the home team. Yelling obscenities, making hand gestures, and generally being out of control. No one should be surprised that the players on the court demonstrated such bad behavior. They were surrounded by it.

At some time, school administrators for that school should have stepped in and taken control of the student section. They didn’t. For all I know, they were part of it. I actually saw a teacher join the students at one point. Adults should know better.

Most of my sideline work is at football and baseball, where you are insulated from the comments of parents and fans. I will have a hard time if I eventually retire—I won’t be able to sit in the stands. When (not if) somebody says something about somebody’s kid or one of the coaches…well…I’m not sure what I will do but it won’t be pretty.

That dad needs to let his kid play. He needs to let him be coached and be part of the team. His kid was really good but that is no excuse. After the game, I saw the kid sobbing uncontrollably. I can only speculate why.

That coach needs to just calm down. He will find as he gets older (and wiser) that it isn’t that important. He will find that it’s far more important for his kids to develop motor skills, to learn how to be a good teammate, to understand what it is to be coachable.

He was probably the dad of one of the players on the team. I know it is hard to find coaches. Heck, the first full soccer game I saw, I coached. They for sure couldn’t find anyone better. But best case scenario is for a non-parent to coach those teams. Yeah, I know how hard, if not impossible, that is.

Do your job as a parent. Show love. Teach. Encourage. Support. Wipe the tears. Don’t make excuses nor allow excuses. Your child’s future depends on it. In life and in athletics.

One More Chat

I don’t want this to seem dark and gloomy. I want it to be something else entirely. But some life experiences this week caused me to think of my dad, who died in 1997.

Maybe it was the family gathered for Thanksgiving. Maybe it was when I sat with a dad that had just lost his son. I spent some time with my own son and that was part of it. Maybe that’s just the way these things work.

My dad was a simple man. He dropped out of school after the 6^th grade to go to work in a factory to support his family after his own dad had died. Think about that. Can you imagine sending your 12 year old off to work?

He was 16 when the Great Depression hit in 1929. Work was scarce so he moved from his hometown of Sweetwater to Knoxville, where he had a single room in the basement of a building and worked at jobs whenever he could find them.

He married my mom in 1941 and was the “old guy” at 30 in his Navy unit when he went off to war in 1943, serving in the south Pacific on the USS New Jersey. After the war, he moved to Loudon and got a job at the hosiery mill there. When a new factory opened, he moved there for better opportunities.

He had his first heart attack at age 45, and was forced into retirement ten years later. My summer job all through college was at that same factory. It was hot, nasty work but it paid well.

What I heard from those guys at that factory that had worked with my dad was that Carl Black was a hard worker. They told me that he always seemed to be going 100 miles per hour…that he often did the job of two people and looked for more.

He raised bees and strawberries, always had a huge garden, and each fall would help local farmers kill hogs to get some of the meat. He was always tinkering in his workshop and seemed to be able to fix anything. He was proud of his ice cream freezer, home-made and one of the first in our neighborhood to run off an electric motor. I was never hungry and I was never cold.

I guess I got my work ethic from him. I’m pretty sure I got my ambition from him. Not attending college wasn’t an option for me. I’ve wondered aloud how that came to be. I now realize it was probably from my dad, who never had that opportunity.

He was a little man, 5’6” and 145 pounds at his biggest. Sports were never an option for him but he became my biggest supporter in whatever I did. Because of his heart problems, he could never attend my football games. Doctors decided it was too much excitement for him. But I know he was always sitting at home alone, listening to the radio broadcast of my games.

Because of the blood thinners he took for almost half his life, he was always cold. He loved the hottest days of summer when he was finally comfortable. The last good memories I have of him are sitting with him in church and putting my always warm hands on his cold hands, then napping in the afternoon with him in the apartment he and my mom shared. He was gone the next day.

Like everyone, I would like one more visit with my dad, one more time to talk to him. I don’t have to think hard to know what I would say. I would tell him about the wondrous things that his grandchildren have done and introduce him to my own grandchildren. I would tell him about my life since his death. I know he would be proud that I went back to school and got my doctorate. Being able to call me Dr. Joe Black would have been his proudest moment.

But I would have only one question for him. “Dad, did I do OK?” Hug on somebody today.