The shot missed. Ricocheting against the backboard, bouncing off the rim and thudding onto the court. Ethan shook his head. What else was there to expect after a night like tonight? Everything they attempted to execute failed. The entire night had gone one way: against them. Why would the last shot be any different? He waved his team over and led them into the guests' locker room.
No one said anything. They sat in front of their lockers: elbows on knees, towels over their heads, faces between their hands or peering at the floor beneath them. Ethan had plenty to say, but could muster up the strength to repeat himself. He hated repeating himself. It was the same speech he'd gave since game one. Shots not falling, he could handle-though it would help if they got a few more in-but lack of effort he couldn't. It was driving him stupid in frustration.
"Please, guys, please . . . Can I get just one of you to play a whole game with your whole effort? I know it's in you. But you're gonna have to be willing to struggle through a little pain and a little exhaustion to get there. Does anyone want a victory? Can any of you show me the kind of heart it takes to win? Hell, at this point, I'd settle for a loss that wasn't in the double-digits."
A couple of groans filtered through the stuffy air in the room. A few could only muster a nod. Their fifth straight loss. Ethan was stumped. He tried processing what he could have possibly overlooked and had under-prepared his team for. Practices had been great. Their execution had gotten better. They seemed to be getting the flow of the offense. So what the hell happened out there tonight? What changed between then and now? Their performance was that of an inexperienced junior high team at best.
Coming into tonight he expected better, he expected results. He expected the first win of the season. But instead, they got their asses handed to them by a team he knew wouldn't be in contention for a playoff appearance. They barely broke .500 last year and hadn't made the playoffs in the past fifteen years. How could they fall apart to a team they should be starting their second string against?
He paced the floor, hoping an answer would come to him. Perhaps the dingy carpet held answers. His vision roamed the surface for divine advice. Was he over-coaching? Preparing inadequately? Did he have the right players in the right positions? He shook his head, returning focus onto the sweaty team sitting before him. He hated second-guessing himself. He'd been over this before. The problem wasn't stemming from his side of the equation. He was the only constant. He'd done this for years, the same way, and had gotten the same results, year after year. It had to be the team. But what? How? They had to be under a mental block. They've lost every game so far and that alone would take a psychological toll on the best of athletes. Finding the will to win when all you've known is defeat isn't easy for anybody. The cogs clicked into gear as he narrowed his strategy. Somehow he had to inspire them, re-ignite their desire to win, to play with belief. First, he needed to direct their vision and set their sights on a common, obtainable goal. He could coach them to it, but he couldn't give it to them. They had to take it for themselves.
"Listen fellas. I've seen teams turn things around and go on to become contenders having a worse starting record than ours." He felt like he was attempting to encourage himself as much as he was the team. He got down on one knee, grabbing their attention. "We can do this! The shots will come, but in the mean time we're going to need more of them. That means more rebounds, on offense and defense. It also means we need to be picking up the trash, going after loose balls, hustling after every scrap left out on the court. We don't have any superstars on this team, but we don't need any either. We need each other. Not just one man doing all the work. We work together. Together we win, together we lose. Together we
are
the superstar. As a team; as a unit. No more dragging our feet onto the court, dejected, before the game even begins. Take pride in your work and determine right now,
right now
, you're going to fight. Right now, you're going to scrap for every point. Right now, you are one. One team. One unit. And when the game is done, even if we lose, we'll know that we laid it all out on the court. We brought our best. We gave our all."
It wasn't his finest speech, but there was an audible exhale of encouragement being breathed into the air and the few smiles he got were better than the pitiful frowns of lost causes from moments before. Admittedly, he felt a little encouraged himself, in spite of the fact that they were rivaling the worst team he'd ever coached-his second year team. That team had nearly got him the boot. But just like then, he wasn't about to give up on them. He expected their best, he had to give them his. He stood up.
"Come on guys, huddle up. Hands in." His best. Not the legacy, not the rumored legend, not a story-book hero. They just needed him to be his best. "Fight on three. One . . . two . . ."
*************
Julianne frowned watching Ethan drive as he took the long road home, lost in his own head. The long road home was his deliberating wander. She enjoyed the few times a year he'd skip out on taking the bus home with the team, though she always felt a little selfish about it. However, this was about him, not her. She gazed out the window for a brief moment. The city lights drawing closer along with their approach. Whenever he drove, it gave her time to quietly think to herself, and the man next to her was her muse. She smiled, catching her face in the vague reflection of the glass. She remembered past years; then, catching a younger version in the glass. She could still see the girl she was in her eyes, yet now behind those same lenses hid tinged knowledge. A quiet longing of lost innocence whisked through her effete soul. She blinked twice, pulling herself from her dark well. Ethan was still wandering his own trails of thought as she put her hand on his leg. "Wanna tell me what's on your mind, Coach?"
She waited, watching him come back to the present reality, not feeling the need to force anything from him if he chose to stay in his own world. She was fine just being in his presence, even if it was just the shell. She knew he'd do what he thought best and she would do the same-support him no matter what.
He smiled, his eyes blinking after the passing of a pair of bright headlights. "I think they should write a book about me."
She couldn't help herself and smirked.
Where does he come up with this stuff?
"Oh really?"
He nodded, "Yeah. They could title it,
'Man of Adversity'.
"
They laughed.
