When they presented me with the 1990 National “Coach of the Year” for NAIA Tennis, I tried to give it to Coach Fred Kniffen of the University of Texas at Tyler. Fred had a firm rule in 1990 that no one rode in the van without their seat belts. No exceptions. En route from Tyler to Kansas City one of two team vans ran off a 35-foot bank. All belted, there was only one minor injury.

• HBO recently ran an excellent documentary on Sports in America. There were lots of celebrities, sports heroes, historical events and such. Jesse Owens and Hitler and the 1938 Olympics, that sort of thing. I watched it faithfully remembering the Yankees vs Dodgers and others “classics”. I was puzzled for a while during one interview. Who is this rather nondescript, older guy? I listened quizzically as he dryly unfolded the tale. Much like me, the man as a youngster was from an extremely religious family. Stern father, to the point that none of the four brothers even voiced complaint when multiple “dress up” weekly trips to church were required. Not only did the family know discipline, the minister admonished the entire congregation about the real possibility of hell’s fire for eternity. Later I appreciated the artistic touch of the film makers, who super- imposed Elmer Gantry like evangelists, screaming the Devil’s powers, with flames leaping all around.
There was common ground between Father and sons: BASEBALL. Not only that, they lived in the California home town of one Eddie Matthews, he of future Hall of Fame credentials. Eddie was currently joining teammate Hank Aaron in knocking shit out of baseballs for the then Milwaukee Braves.
It was 1957. And there was a new “player”: TELEVISION! Not only television, but baseball on the television. Imagine the joy the boys felt when Dad brought home a new set! Not only that, the Braves had made the World Series. Eddie Matthews in their living room.
Alas, all was not joy. As fate would have it and because of the West Coast Time Zone, the pivotal game was to be played on Sunday, during church time.
Gloom itself. Still there was nothing said on Sunday morning. All six piled in the car, not a peep the entire trip to the church. They knew better. And again, a thunderbolt would surely accompany some of the unspoken wishes had they been even meekly uttered.
Sunday school was hard to bear. GAME TIME WAS NOT FAR OFF. And then something very unusual happened. As the boys, gathered to enter their usual pews, the parents met them at the entrance. An odd kind of “ushering” today, as Mom and Dad nestled the startled brood toward the family car.
The only emotion the narrator had expressed occurred here. A slight smile as he claimed to be the first to realize: We are going home to watch Eddie Matthews in the World Series!
Even then there was dead silence. Would a train smash their family? A fire due to “faulty wiring” usurps local family”? A dichotomy of emotions? You bet. Even as a great game unfolded, random unspoken concerns radiated like static within the home.
But the drama of the game finally imposed itself over the fears. You couldn’t make it any better or tense than this. Bottom of the ninth, one on, Braves are down one. Hometown and home family hero, Eddie Matthews at bat.
At this point the stoic narrator seemingly became even blander. As he concluded the final touches to this childhood highlight he spoke two brief sentences;
“‘Eddie Matthews hit a home run.”
“We never went to Church again.”

HUMOR
• One local grandparent was gaining rambunctious grandchildren at a rapid pace. He countered the consternation by buying a dog. The largest, laziest big basset hound he could find. Trained
the ally to locate between Grandpa’s recliner and the TV set. Named the dog SPEED BUMP. • On a lark a recent graduate with a meager 2.6 grade point average applied to the Harvard
MBA program. He, for some reason, was granted an interview. The committee member who chaired the interview opened the process by asking: Do you have any idea why we granted you this interview? NO, the obvious answer. “Well, frankly, the old professor explained, “…we’ve never heard of Pfeiffer College in Misenheimer, North Carolina!” The applicant swore his answer got him in. He countered, “…that’s all right, Sir. There are a lot of people at Pfeiffer that ain’t ever heard of Harvard.

UCLA–The University of Campbell between Lillington and Angier. The Harvard of Harnett (county). ACC- “Another chance at college, or LSU (Lee Street University).

•Malavai Washington was inducted in the college tennis hall of fame. Long time curator, Dan McGILL ramrodded the press introductions and explained each inductee would have his picture displayed. Then the
grand old patriarch of college tennis couldn’t help jokingly add, “…of
course, Malavai already has his picture in here.” Oh no, was all Malavai could say. Reason: When Malavai played Richard Krajicek in the Wimbledon singles final there was the formal introduction ceremony at the match’s beginning. Full house and all the proper British royalty.
A beautiful, quite blonde young woman “streaked” the group in only a sheer top. As she passed the ensemble, Malavai of course included, she lifted her top exposing her total front to the group, and her total rear to the photographer. Coach McGill couldn’t resist. He asked Malavai why, when all of the other group’s eyes focused on the streaker’s upper half, Malavai was clearly focused lower. “… I was trying to make sure she was a TRUE BLOND.”

• Tennis great, Ivan Lendl, quickly adopted golf as a retirement obsession. Lendl, the father of five daughters, passed that love to the girls. Except the youngest one. This one was tough, to the point of being identified as “Crash”. As a preteen youngster, Crash approached her father with the admonition that she did not want to play golf. Her sports minded father said that was fine, but she had to do something, and what would it be? Women’s hockey. No question.
Okay, said the Dad, there is a women’s college hockey game on tonight and we’ll stay up and
watch it. Hunkered in front of the TV, Father and young Crash, watched the game begin. Almost immediately a play near the boards caused Crash to pose this question of her Father and the game itself: “Why didn’t that girl body check her opponent when she had her right there at the board?”
Her father explained that in women’s college hockey there is no legal body checking. He was then surprised as this obviously disappointed youngster rose and walked out of the room withthe comment “…forget it then, I’ll just go ahead and play golf.” (From THE NEW YORKER). P.S. I believe the fact was included that while all the Lendl daughters were fine golfers, Crash
won the local club championship at 11 years old. Wonder where she got that.

1. The balls were too fluffy.
2. The balls were too heavy
   (light, yellow, white, old, new).
3. It was too hot.
4. It was too cold.
5. I have a cold.
6. I have a headache.
7. It’s too windy.
8. It’s too humid.
9. I can’t play indoors.
10. I can’t play outdoors.
11. I have a blister.
12. i have tennis elbow.
13. The sun was in my eyes.
14. I can’t play when the sun’s not
    shinning.
15. I can’t play at night (under lights).
16. I can’t play early in the morning.
17. I was thirsty.
18. I can’t play on an empty stomach.
19. I’d just eaten.
20. My racquet’s dead.
21. My racquet has a broken string.
22. Slipping grip.
23. I have old shoes.
24. I have new shoes.
25. I can’t play on clay.
26. I can’t play on hard surface.
27. He’s a pusher.
28. He cheats.
29. He accused me of cheating.
30. My partner double faults.
31. My partner talks too much.
32. Partner thinks I’m cute.
33. Teammates are too intense.
34. Teammates are too loose.
35. Too many drunks on the team.
36. Not enough drunks on the team.
37. My opponent is an airhead.
38. I can beat that guy any day
    (but today).
39. I didn’t think we’d play today.
40. I’m tired from yesterday.
41. This tournament is run like
    a circus.
42. I was worried about my
    girlfriend.
43. I can’t play when someone’s
    watching.
44. I can’t play when no one is
    watching.
45. I was watching instead of
    playing.
46. Sweat got in my eyes.
47. I can’t believe he called that
    ball out.
48. The linesman blew it.
49. Tennis is a groggy game.
50. I think the court’s too short.
51. Snuff nerves!

Born male, in 1940 in North Carolina with the “love of sports” gene, son of a a Baptist minister who graduated from “old Wake Forest” ,  I was a Demon Deacon.

“WE” beat  Everett Case and the dominant Wolfpack twice by one point (71-70 and 51-50),  with my Dad and I listening to Ray Reeves on the Atwater Kent radio.  No TV yet.  Dickie Hemric, Lowell “Lefty”Davis, Coach Murray Greason, with Bones as assistant.

Bad news, good news from Raleigh’s News and Disturber:  1. BAD–The N&O has forgotten that WFU is part of the “big four”.  Coverage, current and historical, neglects Winston Salem as part of the state.   2.  GOOD:  Larry Silverberg, a professor of Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering was published today (March 3, 2018) with an article entitled MATH REVEALS THE PERFECT FREE THROW.

Malcolm Gladwell concluded Michael Jordan missed baseball “clunkering” and thus couldn’t hit at the major league level.*  Having watched the “ball bounce”  a lot of times, I was pleased with Professor Silverberg’s conclusions.  Some I wrote about on this blog in 2011.  Check blog 13 on GOLF PUTTING AND FREE SHOW SHOOTING.https://littlegreenbookoftennis.com/?s=free+throws

What a week in Atlantic Coast Conference.  Duke vs Carolina tonight  after FSU over Duke, Miami over Carolina, and Georgia Tech over State in three of the most exciting games of the year.  The “new ACC guys” upped the ante this week.

Want to know who is gonna win the final four.?   The ones who make the free throws at the end.   Clunk.

My  eleven year old grandson plays his season finale today for the BOULDER BUFFALOES.  His dad is a sub coach.  The regular coach has three young kids.  One, almost always wears his spiderman suit.  Sometimes to bed,  Coach says.  In a community center with six courts he runs the “side game”.   These are games of little brothers and sisters with their own rules and games.  This kid RUNS the side game.   Our last trip to Boulder included the eleven year old brother’s b-ball game.   Lennox is our other grandson.  He’d just turned two, but was sick.  When our family, en mass, walked in the gym, Spiderman asked abruptly,  “Where’s Lennox?”  My Son commented,  “Lennox can hang.  Spiderman likes him as backup.”   Made me proud.

*CLUNKERING”:  Gladwell say Michael missed those years baseball people put in watching the nuances of the game, or clunkering. (Spin on the ball, pitcher’s mannerisms and “tells”, etc.).         “Shop time, baby!”—Coach Mickey Brown.

 

 

 

While stopping for fuel, a fellow coach made a trip to the Men’s room. Door is locked. Urgency caused a test of the Women’s facility. Aha! No one around, door unlocked,”…I’ll be in and out unnoticed!”
Relieved, next is a peep out the door. Coast is clear!
Then a startled woman appears. With a quick exit, the veteran coach lifts one finger and explains: “Transsexual”

After a round of high handicap golf our group,fed and content to tell the same old stories, was advised by one of our regulars to “…listen to this one!”
A new comer to our group will not be named. Only he was one of four brothers, who were the sons of a physician. The storyteller, the oldest and now middle-aged.
“Two of my brothers wound up at Appalachian State University. One, an 18 year old freshman. Barely enrolled he joined his brother and another freshman who was from the mountains nearby. They knew little about this mild looking youngster and his girl friend who showed them a secluded mountain top scene. Little attention was paid to the fact that there was only one entrance and exit on the summit.
Typical college fun as the sunset began to show off. Suddenly and raucously, a pickup truck appeared with three rednecks straight out of “Deliverance”, as it roared up the mountain, blocking the sole exit.
Things progressively worsened as the newcomers taunted, threatened, cursed and terrorized the young group. No one did anything to cause trouble but trouble didn’t care. As the sky darkened so did the mood.
The booze ran short…so now some fun. The girl repeatedly threatened, one of the boys was actually stabbed in the thigh with a pocket knife.
The first words out of the student brother’s new found male friend went something like this. “Come on fellows this is getting bad. I have a I/2 gallon of Jack Daniels hidden in my truck. Why don’t I just give it to you guys and you back off my friends?” GO GET IT MAN, FAST.
But the brothers wondered for a moment if this would only make things worse. With real concern for the girl.
Until their new found friend came back from his truck, not with whiskey, but with a .30/.30 deer rifle aimed squarely at the hillbilly leader. The game changed. “GET YOUR ASSES OUT OF HERE”spoke the mild teenager.
His friends, with great relief, thinking the horror about over. Not so.
Amazingly the driver alone got in the customized pickup. It had the top sawed off and was actually a “convertible” truck. Or, in his mind, now a weapon that he now floor-boarded straight at the rifleman.
Bad mistake.
Our hero, without flinching, waited and then jumped back to avoid the “missile”, like a matador. Next the mountain yelled as the .30/.30 blew the back of the driver’s head off.
Next, it sought the other two, who now fled toward the woods and the night. One made it. The other, not so, catching a round in mid-back.
As this guy  hobbled himself into the dark, our horrified bewildered brothers wondered “what now?” No question, as new group leader loaded the bunch into the truck and drove straight to the Boone,NC police station.
Late at night now, the shooter/driver/hero now confessed. After describing the roughnecks to the single sheriff on duty, he stated, “…these kids did nothing wrong. I shot them both.”
The huge officer stared straight into the young man’s eyes, saying nothing, expressing no emotion for a long time. Suddenly and with great force, he grabbed the confessor around the waist and picked him roughly off the ground.
“You got those sorry bastards. You got ’em !!! We’ve been chasing those SOB’S for months. And you got em.”
Two twists: 1. It might seem peculiar that with both shot in the back or back of the head, that subject never came up.
Also, interestingly, both of the other two were captured and sent to central prison for long terms. The one with the back wound was partially paralyzed, had to “wear a bag”. He required a lot of special medical attention for his wound, yet the Doctor who provided care for him never told him he was the father of the two student/brothers.

Sports can break your heart and/or your neck. About the time schools consolidated, a football tackling technique called “spearing” became popular. And it was lethal. During this “evolving” time several kids were killed or paralyzed. Spearing was often the villain. Any young football coach should read O. Charles Olsen’s small book called “The Prevention of Football Injuries.” Olsen’s theory is centered on E = 1⁄2 mv2 or Energy = one half mass times velocity squared. Or, the players are faster, stronger, and the hitting is harder.
When schools integrated the smaller kids were eliminated from football. Bigger kids, many African American, weight training programs, and steroids in some instances, produced some dangerous hits.
Much has been written about the “Black athlete.” There is no question in my mind about the talent level of these athletes.
Coming from the South and being a minister’s son there was little question, early on about God. Certainly, in my mind, he was male, white, and looked a whole lot like Santa Claus. Surely too, he was lovable, kind, and simply good “supreme being.”
After watching sports in America the last forty years my guess about God’s nature is more Machiavellian. After watching America make a religion out of sports, while at the same time mistreating the black population so badly, I picture God’s role differently. My guess we’ve put so much emphasis on sport he’s peeved. Think not? Watch where parents are at 11:00 am on Sunday’s if their child is in a soccer match. Hmm? Did God say “I’ll give these fanatics a dilemma!” He then put this glorious athletic talent in many of the Black population, and now he’s “up there” giggling at what America is doing with sports.
Please don’t get me wrong. The Black athletes have paid their dues in practice, injury, and sweat just like anyone. Probably more so.
Integration caused a lot of headaches in the alignment of conferences, etc. Who plays and who you play, is important, and alignment turned things upside down.
I do believe Proposition 48 (the academic guidelines for collegiate eligibility) yielded a lot of good. I wonder about the S.A.T. and fairness, but it is a “hard” number.
My guess is the best barometer for academic success is the athletes’ class rank. With exceptions, most of those who could achieve class rank had enough ability to succeed.
Some can’t spell S.A.T. Some people are aberrant bastards who have no business in higher education. It always irked me to know that the beauty, education, and joy of collegiate sports was often wasted on an “athlete” who had no intention of benefiting from the true value of Sports in Education.

***I wrote the above in 2007 (“Play is where Life is”).