Adventures in coaching

I'm so blessed to have worked with so many fantastic students and athletes in the Waseca Public Schools. When I run into them around town and visit we share many stories and events they had in school. We laugh together and I listen to the details, many of which I've forgotten. Stories from the classroom, environmental trips to Isabella and Wolf Ridge, and so many athletic stories.

Marie Ross (Mulcahey) played for me on my ninth-grade girls’ basketball team. She was a tall post player and played with consistent energy and passion. She always had fun playing the game, a joy to coach. Marie is now working, has a family, and a degree in journalism.

I ran into her parents, Mike and Jane, and we laughed and revisited a couple of unique experiences Marie had playing basketball that year. We couldn't recall all of the details, so they contacted Marie to recall them. She sent them a memo, much better than anything I could have ever written. You might imagine that our conversation was about making the winning free throw, or a  winning basket. It is something much better. Here is the memo Marie sent, a couple of incidents Marie experienced playing ninth-grade Lady Jay basketball...

Tooth Incident

I believe the tooth incident occurred in St. James. I remember it was a long bus ride to get there because we had a painfully long reading assignment for English class. I hated reading, so I talked one of my friends into reading it aloud on the ride. She had already planned on reading it on the way there, why not do it aloud...two birds, one stone.

Then at the game, I was going for a rebound with an opponent. The opponent was slightly in front of me but we both had our hands on the ball when she whipped her head back and it directly hit my mouth. I immediately put my hands over my mouth knowing my tooth just got hit hard and was maybe gone. But the game continued on. Why, you ask? Because everyone, including the refs, thought I was laughing and that's why my hands were covering my mouth. Finally someone called a timeout and brought me over to Coach Zika.

With my hands still firmly covering my mouth, he asked to see my teeth. I was facing him and the entire crowd-filled bleachers were behind him. I adamantly refused, likely because I was in a state of shock. When he finally talked me down, I opened my mouth slowly and saw the entire crowd cringe in disgust... No poker faces in that crowd!

My parents called our dentist and he said he'd meet us at his office. So we drove straight there. There were a lot of tears on that long car ride back to Waseca. And my loving father in a moment of trying to console his deeply distraught daughter said, “If it's any consolation, I bet that other girl has quite the headache.”

Upon arriving at the dentist, he took a look at my front tooth that was now almost 90 degrees pushed back near the roof of my mouth. The treatment? Well that was none other than using an old-fashioned wooden popsicle stick to pry it back into place. And then sending me home with my very own popsicle stick to continue to angle it back in place. Horrifying, and yes, I still have teeth nightmares to this day. And it was so late by the time we got home, I didn't have to do any homework. But fear not, I was at least done with the English assignment!

Then fate decided to double-down about 25 years later when my 9-year-old son was playing basketball with some neighborhood kids. He again was going for a rebound and got knocked back by an opponent who was also jumping for the rebound. My son landed mouth-first on the cement...knocking his front tooth loose. And did I mention my father also had his front tooth hit and damaged in the 90s?...not from basketball, but from a roll-tarp on a semi truck. So apparently it's a 3-generation-deep curse!

Shoe Incident

The shoe incident was a different night, but the same basketball season. I had forgotten my size 11 sneakers for an away game, but only realized it when suiting up for the game in the locker room. Someone on my team had an extra pair, but not my size. Another teammate figured out if we all go down one shoe size, we can make this work. But before we started the elaborate shoe swap, Coach Zika caught wind of our plan and nixed it. He said this plan would end in many foot injuries. So I sat on the bench disappointed in myself the whole game. We lost.

This was all part of my ninth-grade and last basketball season. And no, I didn't quit b-ball because of these incidents. Mr. Zika, you were a wonderful coach. I hope you know that! Thank you.