I’ve recently come to the conclusion that I would absolutely hate to be a coach of anything, whether it was a life coach, one of those coaches that rides around the city, or a sports coach. The stress seems terrible.
I’ve talked to coaches a fair bit in the nearly two years of doing this job now, from new coaches who are excited to be given a chance to shape a program, all the way down to cynical, jaded coaches who are just ready to retire.
See, I thought when I started working as the sports reporter that it would be managing the students themselves that would be the hard part. But the longer I’ve been here, the more I’ve realized how wrong I was to assume that.
See, while every sport and every team has different problems to address, I can’t think of a single coach who hasn’t mentioned how stressful it is dealing with parents and managing their expectations and criticism.
The strangest part, though, is why people are way more fine telling the football coach that he’s doing his job wrong, but they don’t go up to their child’s math or science teacher and tell them that they’re teaching wrong.
“And he arose and came to his father. But when he was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him.”
Father’s Day is upon us, making this a perfect time to delve into a little history.
Did you know Father’s Day was first celebrated in the YMCA of Spokane, Wash., June 19, 1910?
A lady by the name of Sonora Smart Dodd was inspired to ask the minister after a Mother’s Day sermon, “Don’t you think fathers deserve a little time in the sun, too?”
This was particularly important to her, as Sonora and her five siblings were raised by their single father, Civil War veteran William Jackson Smart.
Wanting to honor her father, who had clearly earned the love and respect of his children, she set about founding a national holiday.
While most of us can’t go to that extreme, we can certainly spare a day of gratitude for the men who helped us become who we are today.
The trapdoor of the scaffold wasn’t working properly and Sheriff Wilburn Killen of Wise County, Virginia, beat on it for several minutes as Eave Hopson waited on the gallows to be hanged. It was May 15, 1903.
Hopson seemed undaunted by the happenings as he chatted with
a friend, J. F. Fleming, about his impending burial.
“Take me to Preacher John Mullins’ home after I’m dead,” Hopson told him. “I want
to be buried close to my dad in our family graveyard.” Skeetrock is
in Dickenson County.
The events leading
to the hanging began when Hopson, Bob Mullins and Enoch Wright were on an allnight drinking spree. When they became hungry they decided
to steal a chicken and roast it over a fire. Eave climbed a tree to get
a chicken, leaving his gun with Mullins and Wright.
John Salyers, who had recently moved to Wise County from Tennessee, ran outside when he heard the frenzied clucking from his chickens and the shooting soon erupted. Salyers was mortally wounded.