This week is always the worst week of the year for me.
The beginning of the Postseason. My Postseason. The week when I’m no longer pacing the mud patch called a football field at Lawrence Park Collegiate. The first week after our last game, where I have no high school practices, no community team practices, no games to scout, or teams to direct.
To be technically clear, I spend much of the fall leaving my office at 3PM, heading 25-minutes north to LPCI, pushing my senior Panthers for two-plus hours. Racing home ten minutes to collar my 13-year-old and his gear before a F1-worthy zigzag further north to our practice field at Keele & Steeles. For the hours of 6:30 to 8:30PM I now have a collection of Bantams from all walks of life to teach and prepare. Night falls and the cold sets in well before we are finished. Post practice includes the usual chit chat with parents followed by our regular run to South Street Burger where chocolate milkshakes, cheeseburgers, or large fries seemed to reenergize my hardworking Toronto Jet.
This year it comes with a weightier finale. The same week we lost the Toronto City Championships, the Grey Cup and Vanier Cup were played. Except for some OFSAA Bowls this week, Canadian football is closed for business until the spring. For the next four months, until my spring Toronto Jets hit the field, I will have to cope with withdrawal pains.
I am going to miss the rituals of fall.
The daily weather check to determine what to wear to practices. It’s amazing how in the same day you can have a rainstorm, a warm evening setting sun, and moonlit chills. I have a longstanding tradition of only wearing shorts when I coach the Jets, so this required some creative jewel warming during the late fall.
Facebook messages from my high school players telling me they “forgot” they had tutoring, a job interview, or drivers ed. Guess I was a little more anal about my schedule when I was 16.
The pre-game self-talk to not yell at the kids, not yell at the refs, not yell at my fellow coaches. Some may say I need to work on this.
The text messages from parents with varied excuses why their kid won’t make practice, accompanied by their plea that it not impact playing time.
The camaraderie and banter among players and coaches that reflects so powerfully in the bonds you build working, striving, and training to get better as one.
The ever obsessive play scripting that kept me from my work, reading, cleaning around the house…
The pitch-black wind sprints as the players worked harder and harder to improve themselves.
The spine damaging yellow school bus rides to places all across Southern Ontario while trying to keep a wild pack of 13-year-olds quiet enough so I could nap or chat with my coaches.
My game day morning runs. I love these. I head out from my office, west through the Annex and loop around Varsity Stadium. Not due to any affection for U of T, but rather I get inspired by the goalposts, yard lines, and benches of a football field.
My post game runs to Starbucks. Runs as in journey, not runs as in jogs. There is something about a walkabout with a cappuccino that I need to help transition my mind from war mode to home mode.
I briefly flirted with “retiring,” if there is such a thing for a volunteer, as a high school coach if we had won the City Championships. I am not sure why. Maybe I was afraid it could never get better. It was such a magical season at Lawrence Park as we made our way to the City Championship. Along the way we had to recover from a tight three-point regulars season loss to our arch-rival. An end of season tie against another rival after we blew a big lead. It’s amazing how a tie can feel like a loss for one team and a triumph for another. We had to come back from a 14-point deficit to win our first playoff game. Staunch defence and stellar punting allowed us to win our semi-final versus the same regular season rival, despite only earning three first downs the entire game. Then we had an unfortunate lapse in the final, where nothing went right and our opponent was a well-oiled machine. But losing didn’t make me angry. Because we didn’t lose, we won second.
Getting that close to the title made me hungrier.
Hungrier to get back out there.
Hungrier to get the whistle in my mouth.
Hungrier to be a better coach.
Hungrier to see who signs up.
Hungrier to keep the legacy going.
Hungrier than I can explain for the Postseason to end.