Word Count:  2795

CRASH’S COURSE

        The young man of only ten excelled in sports.  He was equally as good playing team sports as his was playing tennis.  Unfortunately, he was painfully shy off the field and this presented a challenging dilemma.  None of the other kids really understood his behaviors.  Many of the insecure young men Crash played sports with thought him to be conceited or in their words, stuck up.  They misunderstood his shyness and silence and believed it to be superiority.  Most of the team believed Crash felt as though he was better than everyone else.  Incidentally, until Crash joined the baseball team this past Spring, they were in a three year losing streak.  The fall soccer team also improved dramatically when Crash stood in front of the goal.

His parents starting calling him Crash when he was only three years old.  He rode his tricycle into a brick wall at full toddler speed for no apparent reason.  Fortunately, he wasn’t injured, but his parents were so concerned they took him to several Doctors and Therapists in hopes of discovering an explanation for a behavior which continued beyond the tricycle.   It continued in one form or another on his bicycle, his go-Kart,  his four wheeler and a few horses.  It was almost as if he did not know how to stop or perhaps he wanted out of his confined world and just did not know how to get there.  The very first time Crash stole home in baseball, he collided with the catcher so hard he knocked him unconscious for almost a minute.  In Crash’s defense,  the catcher was standing directly in front of home plate, mit in the air, waiting to catch the ball and  tag him out.  The ball arrived a few seconds after the collision.  His nickname was now solidified on and off the field.  

Crash was exceptionally timid, truly a painfully shy young man.  That is, social interaction or even the thought of it caused him great emotional pain.  He would later refer to this as AA or anticipatory anguish.  When the new soccer coach announced his  belief in collaborative coaching and thoroughly explained what this meant, Crash began to worry three weeks before the first practice.  

He watched the other kids talk to one another.  He listened to them make fun of him.    Crash had a bit of a speech impediment.  When the other kids were not calling him stuck up, they were making fun of his speech.  Crash would get so angry, but rarely at the other kids.  He was angry with himself for not excelling in speech the way he did in sports.

“I can hit a home wun or catch a line dwive, but I can’t make my tongue wuk white,” he would always say.  He especially had trouble with his Rs.  His parents encouraged him as best they could.  Crash seemed to forget all of his problems and insecurities once he was on a tennis court or ball field.  

The Little League team advanced to the championships that year..  At the top of the sixth inning, the score was three to three.  The coaches called for a timeout to chat with the teams and offer additional support and encouragement.  Parents huddled around and even the new soccer coach came down to offer support.  Crash did not look supported or encouraged when the coach walked away.  The realization that interactive soccer would start in less than a week plagued his thoughts. Crash’s fear was so distracting that he failed to field a ground ball and the opposing team was able to score.  He struck out twice while up to bat and in the final inning, he missed a pop fly.  Two runners crossed home plate which gave the other team the championship victory.  

“You stink,” said one of the teammates.

“You really stink.  I don’t know why we ever let you play,” said another.  

Crash looked at his entire team and said, “I’m sawwee I let you down.”  He walked away quickly before anyone could see the tear fall to his shirt as it rolled from his cheek.  Neither of his parents knew what to say; the ride home was a silent one.  

The next day was Saturday and a letter came addressed to Crash.  It was his first bit of homework for  soccer practice.  There were three sheets of paper stapled together.  At the top of the first page, it read, “ Dissecting the Team.”  The next page had a list of positions and blanks lines for each team member to write in who they thought would be best in each position.  The third page had two questions on it.  “What two positions do you feel you play best?”  and “Why?”

Crash started on the third page.   He wrote goalkeeper and forward for these are the two primary positions he had been playing and the team had been winning.    He turned back to the first page.  He was not sure what it meant.  He had dissected a sentence in English class.  He had even dissected an earthworm in Science class, but “how does one dissect a TEAM,” he thought to himself.  He wrote out all the letters then he wrote MATE, AT, MEAT, MET & MAT.  Crash then wrote TAME and this made his smile.  He turned to the second page and decided to return to the first after a good night’s sleep.  

The next morning he woke up no closer to understanding the first part of his homework.  He opted to forget about it and focus his energies on speaking plainly in front of his mirror.

“Johnny is fast which makes him a good centuh half. Centuh, Center half,” he said.  “Center, Center half,” he reiterated.  “Paul is quick at turns and dribbles which makes him a good white wing, white ruhight right wing.”  He made a list of everyone on the team and wrote a sentence or two as to why he thought they would be good in the position he listed.  He was trying to cover every angle he could think of if asked to speak.  Crash always tried to be prepared.  

Time seemed to fly by that week and   before Crash realized,  it was Thursday,  the first official practice of the season.  Crash arrived early to get a seat up front.  He sat there patiently waiting and as his teammates walked in, the comments began.  

“You play soccer better than baseball?’

“Don’t make us lose the championship,” another teammate demanded.  Crash could feel his heart begin to race.  He wiped the sweat from his palms onto his shorts and his shirt.  He sat there silently for about ten minutes as one teammate after another made a derogatory remark when they passed by.  Finally, the new coach walked in and the comments ceased.  

“Hello team.  Welcome to the first day of a new season.”  The entire team greeted the coach in almost perfect unison with, “Hello coach.”  

“What does it mean to be a Team,” the coach asked?

Paul said, “There is no I in Team.”  

The coach said, “that’s good Paul, write that on the board.”  

Crash scribbled the word Team at the top of the page.  

The coach then asked Steve, “What position does Paul play best?”  He systematically asked each team member this question.  The coach continued asking about each team members best placement until he had at least two names beside every position on the board.  

“For the next two weeks,” said the coach, “ we will practice these people in these positions.”  “Does anyone have any objections, concerns or comments about the line up?”

The team looked content.  The coach then turned to Johnny and asked him to tell him one thing about teams.  

Johnny said, “teams are only as good as the teammates.”  

“Can anyone expand on that,” asked the coach?

“Only as strong as the strongest member or as weak as the weakest,” said Donny.  

“That’s good, really good guys. See everyone tomorrow afternoon,” the coach dismissed the team.  

For the next week Crash played solely in the position of goalkeeper and not a single goal could be scored against him.  For some on the team, this made them incredibly happy to have such a strong player strategically placed in position to prevent points from being scored.  For others, however, ones who were strong kickers and good offensive players, this only fueled their anger toward Crash.  The criticisms began again.  Paul persuaded his father to ask the Coach about him playing goaltender.  The coach and Paul’s Dad worked together for close to seven years.  At the next  practice, Crash had been moved to the bench and Paul to goalkeeper.  

Fortunately, for Crash, the soccer field was placed in the center of a small valley surrounded by tree covered hills, a swift creek to the left and a pond to the right.  When he wasn’t on a ball field or tennis court Crash loved to watch nature.  He enjoyed watching the egrets standing patiently for fish at the pond or watching the robins hunt for worms.  He particularly enjoyed watching squirrels frantically bury pecans and walnuts as if to suggest a harsh winter was coming.  

“Did you see that,” asked Steven.  “Did you?”  “Hey Crash, Earth to Crash.”

“What?”  

“Did you see Paul miss the ball?”

“No, I did not,” said Crash.

“That is at least the fourth goal scored tonight.”  

A fight broke out on the field shortly afterwards and the coach called both Steven and Crash back to the field.  

“Crash, you are at center.  Steven, left wing”  the coach commanded.  

“He can’t play center,” Paul screamed from the goalline.  

The ball was already in play and it had been passed  back and forth a few times when Steven kicked it to Crash who was positioned almost directly in front of the goal.  

Crash kicked it with such intensity and force that Paul barely had time to react.  As he raised his hands to deflect or stop the ball, it collided with his nose and blood splattered everywhere.  As everyone rushed toward Paul, no one seemed to notice the soccer ball had ricocheted off of Paul’s nose and landed in the goal.  Another point had been scored.  

“You’re not supposed to hurt your teammates,” said Johnny.  

“Yeah, you stink Crash.  Save your anger for the other teams,” shouted Mike.

Fortunately, for Paul, the nosebleed quickly stopped and nothing had be broken.

The next morning practice began in the conference room in front of the chalkboard and like always, the team fueled with new reasons, poked fun at Crash.  

“What have we learned in the past two weeks,” asked the coach?

“Crash is going to take out our entire team if we keep letting him play with us.” said someone from the back.    

“Come forward Chris,” said the coach.  “Come up and write dissecting the TEAM on the board.”  

As the team members struggled to construct sentences that dissected their team, Crash noticed a very large Monarch butterfly right outside the window.  It almost flew inside.  About the time it tried,  the morning breeze pushed it back toward the sweetgum tree.  The monarch landed on a leaf and Crash was completely distracted by it size, its beauty and contrasting colors.  The wind blew the branches and the leaves swayed left then right, up then down.  The butterfly remained effortlessly attached to the leaf.  It flowed with the breeze almost as if the Monarch had become the wind.  

“Crash, Crash are you with us?”  The coach asked again as the kids continued to laugh.  Crash was upset and embarrassed that he allowed a butterfly to distract him from his focus.  

“Your turn to come up to the board and dissect Team.”

“There was that word again,” Crash thought to himself as he pushed back from his desk.  

“Can he write?  He can’t talk,” said Paul.  Again, the other kids started laughing.   About the time Crash picked up the chalk, he could feel his face flush red with embarrassment,  but he continued.   Crash underlined the sentence that read, “There is no I in Team.”  He found the word Mate written on the board and circled it.  He then wrote TAME, Am Tea, Meat, Me, At Met, Mat.  

        “There is no I in Team”, he said and wrote it on the chalkboard again, “but there is a Me,” he continued, “ and without Me you are only left with At, without me, there isn’t much of a  T_a_.”  He was no longer angry at the other teammates or himself.  He put the chalk down and walked out of the room.  

        Crash knew he needed the team, He knew he needed a comfortable place, a place to explore his talents and gifts, a place to lose himself in the moment of freedom from shyness and speech impediments.  It did not appear as though the team understood how much they needed Crash.  He walked home, almost two miles.

        Upon sharing the story with his Mother, she placed him back in the car and drove back to practice.  

        “You apologize to the coach and your teammates young man...Do you hear me?”

        “Yes Ma’am,” Crash responded.  

        “You will not be conceited, you will not flaunt your talents and gifts in front of others.”

        “You are supposed to encourage them to be as good as they can be.”

        “I told the twooth,” said Crash.  “I told the TuhRooth,” said Crash.  There was passion in his voice.  “I told the truth and now I’m being punished.  

        “It sounds to me as though you were being smug.  Do you know what that means?”

        “Self-righteous,” said Crash.  

        The truth of the matter is that Crash was not being smug when he made the discovery.  He was not trying to be confrontational.  He was anything, but contentious.  His statement applied to anyone who felt as though they did not belong on the team.  He never believed he was better than his teammates, simply that he was playing his part to win.  When the team lost, Crash set out on an internal mission to uncover what part of that loss he contributed to.  He never blamed others, in fact, he rarely spoke on or off the field during a game.  He concentrated on winning.  He focussed on being the best player at any given moment.

As they arrived at the community center, Crash took a deep breath, then exhaled.  He did it a few more times before opening the door.  As he climbed out of his mother’s car and closed the door, he could hear the words of his Uncle Ben, “shoulders back boy, head high.  Climb right back on that horse.”  When Crash was younger, he and his Uncle Ben would ride.  The first few times Crash fell off, he heard those words of encouragement from his Uncle.   As he grew older he came to understand  the universal application the sentiment captured.  

Crash opened the door to the community center and walked down the hall.  When he arrived to a closed door of the conference room, he could hear his heartbeat.  He took another really deep breath and turned the knob.  Two students were at the chalkboard, the coach was sitting with Paul and the other teammates were talking.  He walked back over to his seat.  

“Who goaltends better than Crash,” the coach asked?  Not a single hand was raised or word spoken.  “Who is willing to practice six days a week to fill that position?”  Silence again.  “Well, then you are lucky he’s here, you won’t have to run all the way to his house to ask him to play goalkeeper.”

“Johnny,” said the coach.

“Sorry Crash, Will you still play on our team?”  Crash nodded his head yes.  

“Steven,” said the coach.

“We really are sorry Crash,  you still have to be our goalkeeper,” said Steven.  Again, Crash nodded his head yes.

“Your turn Paul, and Paul what else to you need to ask,” uttered the coach.  

Crash raised his hand and said, “Coach, can I say something?”

“Well of course,” replied the coach.  

  Crash stood up from his chair, perhaps with the best posture he had ever had.  His palms weren’t sweaty and his heart wasn’t racing.  He said, “ I am sorry for sounding smug before.  I want to play on this team and I don’t want anyone to think of me as conceited, because I’m not.  I play to win each and every game.  That isn’t being smug, that is my contribution to teamwork.”  Crash’s herculean feat changed everything.    

“Thank you,” said the coach.  “Boys?”

“Thank you,” said the team.

“PRACTICE,” said the coach, “is over.”

Weeks would pass before Crash would learn what Paul had to ask.      

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