Act like you've been there...

Coach Close stood spiritually as a giant, physically unassumingly shorter. He commanded a troop of my high school buddies, myself included, all 4 years at Basalt High School.

We were a mediocre Single A high school in rural Colorado that played other seemingly mediocre teams. We rose to play-off levels often enough to have a taste of greatness. And throughout those four years I played with and against a few kids who went off to college and one who played pro.

Coach had lived, played and taught in Michigan, so I imagine he picked up his style and mannerisms along the way. He was famous for his accuracy with a football when someone was drinking too much water during a break. Close would rant, say "Jeez n' tarn" or "For cryin' out loud" a lot. I never heard him cuss, even when, years later I was coaching with him.

We were playing a game against a twice before victorious team in a playoff setting. Favored to win, at best and least in our minds, Coach had prepared us very well for this game. I remember meeting in the gym on a cold November evening and hearing him tell us that every time we scored, hit, sacked, tackled, won or lost he wanted us to act like we had been there before. "No dancing!", he said. Coach told us that we knew what it was all like, we had seen all the plays, we knew how to win and we knew what it felt like to loose. He told us that we had been here before and that in life we would be here again; suited up, warmed up, pumped up and ready for battle.

I walked out of that gym at least two feet off the ground, eyes wide and nostrils flaring, in total silence. I held hands with my two other captains and walked out at center of 50 yards and called "tails" winning the toss, deferring and getting to kick off. Standing next to my other striker, I watched that ball vault off the kicker's foot, listened to my heart pound as I blazed down the field.

As I planted my helmet in the ear hole of my opponent, I felt as though I had been there before. I knew that feeling. As I helped him up and patted his shoulder, I asked him "Don't I know you?"

Thanks Coach. For all the times I have suited up and had the chance to be there; I have tried my best to act like I'd been there before.

Life is brilliant,

Jarret