Wrestling with wrestling
I tried to let this go, and be a reasonable person, but I can only be pushed so far. Recently, a parent called me a bad coach to my face and asked me to “never coach [his] son again.” Fuck that guy.
Loyal fans will notice that the *Wrestlemania* team has been slacking for a while; we’re sorry. CJak has launched a new podcast, has a new (slightly) less depressing life, and is finally indulging on his dreams to be a pro FPS player. Suffice it to say that the Great Leader is busy. The staff has insisted on throwing up a good ol’ fashioned rant for months now, and since I have a wrestling rant, it seems only fitting to update the Big *W*. Let’s set the scene.
No... not that scene.
I’m coaching at a youth wrestling tournament one Sunday morning. This year, in addition to coaching the high school, I did the middle and grade school clubs. I elected to move off of our “travel” team and be the lead coach of the first year grade schoolers (mostly 5-7 years old) when the old coach quit. At this tournament we had two coaches for ~30 kids across 3 levels of wrestling on 4 mats. The rules of the space-time-continuum being the way that they are, we could not coach all of these kids at the same time. In planning this tournament, we did not think very 4th dimensionally.
We were desperately short on coaches, so a dad of a 4th grader offers to help us coach if we had too many matches going at the same time. And by “offers to help” I mean that he literally told me that he’d “let [CJak] coach the kids.” How gracious of him to let me, the coach, coach the kids who I’m paid to coach. I’M THE COACH GODDAMMIT.
Strike one, fatass.
In an attempt to be the bigger man [Ed. you never will be], I let that one go. That was my first mistake. Without skipping a beat, the Dad goes on to grill my credentials. “Speaking of last year, I didn’t see you around. Is this your first year coaching?”
Strike two, dickwad.
Holding back the burning rage rising from my soul, I explain to him that I had been in the program for a few years, and that he never saw me because I was busy coaching other kids better than his son. Well, I left out the “better than his son” part because I’m a giant pussy. In my head, I justify not telling this guy off right then and there with the fact that I have to work with his kid a few days a week (potentially) for years to come. This was my second mistake.
Later in the day, I notice the Dad’s kid wrestling with his Dad coaching him. I walk over to the mat to begin to coach the Boy. At this point, sane parents who understand that I have their son’s best interest in mind usually step back and let me do my thing. This guy, however decides to step up, talk over me, and contradict me repeatedly. We do enforce the “no parents on the mat” rule, but I opened the door for this when I allowed the Dad to “help.” During the match, I want to see what the Boy can do on his feet and I tell him to let the other kid go and shoot a few single leg takedowns. (Note: letting your opponent up and taking him down repeatedly is standard practice on all levels of wrestling, and the specific implementation of the single leg could be considered “Our Style”). The kid furiously shakes his head at me and continues to wrestle. The dad says something along the lines of
“Okay, that’s fine if you don’t want to let him up. Just work on your arm bar.”
Realizing that the Boy will no longer listen to a goddamn word I say, I sit back and let the match expire while the Dad vigorously encourages the Boy to do everything in a manner opposite to “Our Style.”
That's "Our House." What do we pay these interns for?
After the match, I try to pull the 9 year old Boy aside to talk to him about the match. The Boy heads right over to his dad and they start talking strategy. By our clubs rules, the wrestler is supposed to walk to his coach (me) directly after the match to debrief. The Dad and the Boy know this, and willfully ignore it. I don’t want to start shit, so I let this go too.
When the dad is finished lavishing praise on his Boy’s mediocre arm bar, I ask the Boy to come talk to me. If he were a teenager, I’d yell at him for directly disobeying me in a match, but he’s 9 so I take a gentler approach.
“Boy, that match was pretty good, but you didn’t listen to me very much. I want you to live up to your potential and be a State Champ. You don’t have a very good single leg yet, but with practice you’ll be great at it. Next time I ask you to do something in a match, please do it, because it will make you better. If you don’t, next time I’ll have to forfeit the match. Does that sound reasonable?”
The Boy nods in agreement. I shake his hand and give him a “good job.” I thought this would be the end of the whole situation. That was my final mistake.
Before the Boy’s next match, the Dad comes up to me and asks me not to coach his son. Strike three, cum guzzler.
It's probably for the best.
“Why not?”, I ask.
“Well, the Boy thinks that you were too negative on him after last match,” the Dad replies.
Incredulous, I offer “... I told him he could be a state champ if he works hard.”
“Yeah, but you also told him he’s bad on his feet. Now he’s down on himself, thinking he has bad takedowns.”
He is bad on his feet, I think. “I don’t understand. I didn’t yell at him, I gave him a few pointers, and I told him he did well.”
“I think he’s just more used to how the Other Coach (who is never around) does things. The Boy says he doesn’t want you in his corner.”
“Why doesn’t the Boy tell me this?”
The Dad puffs his chest up, “I’m telling you now.”
At this point I let a little bit of the rage out. Standing on my tiptoes to look square in his eyes, “Are we going to have a problem?” I ask.
“No,” the Dad just backs off a little, “it’s just that maybe he needs more time to get used to you.”
“Fine.” I don’t curse, or yell, or even throw my hands up in exasperation. I just offer a “Good luck” to the Boy and walk away.
This interaction pisses me off for a few reasons. The Staff also insists on me throwing a list (everyone loves lists) into every update, so let’s list this shit:
1) The Dad is stroking his own ego, not training his son- I really think that the Dad has his son in wrestling because he likes the way it feels when he contributes to his sons W/L record. From my seat, it looks like the Dad enjoys the immediate gratification of his son pinning shitty local kids with junky JV moves more than he enjoys the idea of his son learning how to wrestle a technical style that will work in college. The Dad doesn’t want his Boy to work on the single leg takedown, because that takes time and effort to develop; why do that when the Boy can just pick top in the 2nd round and run an arm bar? WINNER
2) Do some fucking parenting- The Boy is 9, so I expect him to throw a little tantrum when I criticize his wrestling, but the Dad should fucking know better. Any rational parent would tell their child something along the lines of “Your coach only wants you to get better. He’s trying to get the best out of you by showing you what you need to work on,” and then come talk to me in private later. The Dad, however, essentially told his shitty kid that he doesn’t have to listen to his coach. That’s a hard impulse to beat out of a kid’s brain, especially when they hit adolescence.
3) I’m the Boy’s coach for the foreseeable future- The Other Coach that the Dad likes so much won’t be around past next month. That leaves me as the Boy’s coach for years to come. I’m not going anywhere soon, and the Dad doesn’t have the clout to get me fired over this; we’re stuck with each other and now the Boy has precedent for not listening to me.
4) I’m trying to get the Boy to wrestle “Our Style”- If the Dad doesn’t like the way I coach, he should pack up and go somewhere else; we’re teaching the wrestlers the basis for the style the high school team uses. To succeed in high school and to be seen as a “team player,” the Boy needs to have a good single. Full stop. If he waltzes into 9th grade with shitty takedowns, the coaches will tell him the exact same things I’m telling him right now. If he pulls a prima donna [ED. CJak actually thought the phrase was "pre-Madonna"] and acts like he knows more than the coaches, that’s it. He won’t wrestle varsity, because there will be 3 other more coachable kids ready to take his spot, no matter how good his arm bar is.
We can go on an on about the life skills that I want to teach the Boy, about how this is part of my inability to put parents in their place, or about how I'm getting a little loggie in my early twenties, but let's get out while we still can. I want to get home to see my wife and kids, ya know? This may sound contradictory in the light of my 1,7000 word trade, but this is really no skin off of my back. The only person who really suffers, long term, in this shitty situation is the Boy; the Dad is holding him back from success in a nationally ranked wrestling program. If the Boy doesn't become a great wrestler, get a college scholarship and build a happy life, do I really miss out on anything? Of course I'll find satisfaction in him living up to his potential, but I'll also find satisfaction in the Dad throwing it all away to stroke his own ego. I promise I'm a good coach and not a shitty person. Well, only a little bit of a shitty person.
Loyal fans will notice that the *Wrestlemania* team has been slacking for a while; we’re sorry. CJak has launched a new podcast, has a new (slightly) less depressing life, and is finally indulging on his dreams to be a pro FPS player. Suffice it to say that the Great Leader is busy. The staff has insisted on throwing up a good ol’ fashioned rant for months now, and since I have a wrestling rant, it seems only fitting to update the Big *W*. Let’s set the scene.
No... not that scene.
I’m coaching at a youth wrestling tournament one Sunday morning. This year, in addition to coaching the high school, I did the middle and grade school clubs. I elected to move off of our “travel” team and be the lead coach of the first year grade schoolers (mostly 5-7 years old) when the old coach quit. At this tournament we had two coaches for ~30 kids across 3 levels of wrestling on 4 mats. The rules of the space-time-continuum being the way that they are, we could not coach all of these kids at the same time. In planning this tournament, we did not think very 4th dimensionally.
We were desperately short on coaches, so a dad of a 4th grader offers to help us coach if we had too many matches going at the same time. And by “offers to help” I mean that he literally told me that he’d “let [CJak] coach the kids.” How gracious of him to let me, the coach, coach the kids who I’m paid to coach. I’M THE COACH GODDAMMIT.
Strike one, fatass.
In an attempt to be the bigger man [Ed. you never will be], I let that one go. That was my first mistake. Without skipping a beat, the Dad goes on to grill my credentials. “Speaking of last year, I didn’t see you around. Is this your first year coaching?”
Strike two, dickwad.
Holding back the burning rage rising from my soul, I explain to him that I had been in the program for a few years, and that he never saw me because I was busy coaching other kids better than his son. Well, I left out the “better than his son” part because I’m a giant pussy. In my head, I justify not telling this guy off right then and there with the fact that I have to work with his kid a few days a week (potentially) for years to come. This was my second mistake.
Later in the day, I notice the Dad’s kid wrestling with his Dad coaching him. I walk over to the mat to begin to coach the Boy. At this point, sane parents who understand that I have their son’s best interest in mind usually step back and let me do my thing. This guy, however decides to step up, talk over me, and contradict me repeatedly. We do enforce the “no parents on the mat” rule, but I opened the door for this when I allowed the Dad to “help.” During the match, I want to see what the Boy can do on his feet and I tell him to let the other kid go and shoot a few single leg takedowns. (Note: letting your opponent up and taking him down repeatedly is standard practice on all levels of wrestling, and the specific implementation of the single leg could be considered “Our Style”). The kid furiously shakes his head at me and continues to wrestle. The dad says something along the lines of
“Okay, that’s fine if you don’t want to let him up. Just work on your arm bar.”
Realizing that the Boy will no longer listen to a goddamn word I say, I sit back and let the match expire while the Dad vigorously encourages the Boy to do everything in a manner opposite to “Our Style.”
That's "Our House." What do we pay these interns for?
After the match, I try to pull the 9 year old Boy aside to talk to him about the match. The Boy heads right over to his dad and they start talking strategy. By our clubs rules, the wrestler is supposed to walk to his coach (me) directly after the match to debrief. The Dad and the Boy know this, and willfully ignore it. I don’t want to start shit, so I let this go too.
When the dad is finished lavishing praise on his Boy’s mediocre arm bar, I ask the Boy to come talk to me. If he were a teenager, I’d yell at him for directly disobeying me in a match, but he’s 9 so I take a gentler approach.
“Boy, that match was pretty good, but you didn’t listen to me very much. I want you to live up to your potential and be a State Champ. You don’t have a very good single leg yet, but with practice you’ll be great at it. Next time I ask you to do something in a match, please do it, because it will make you better. If you don’t, next time I’ll have to forfeit the match. Does that sound reasonable?”
The Boy nods in agreement. I shake his hand and give him a “good job.” I thought this would be the end of the whole situation. That was my final mistake.
Before the Boy’s next match, the Dad comes up to me and asks me not to coach his son. Strike three, cum guzzler.
It's probably for the best.
“Why not?”, I ask.
“Well, the Boy thinks that you were too negative on him after last match,” the Dad replies.
Incredulous, I offer “... I told him he could be a state champ if he works hard.”
“Yeah, but you also told him he’s bad on his feet. Now he’s down on himself, thinking he has bad takedowns.”
He is bad on his feet, I think. “I don’t understand. I didn’t yell at him, I gave him a few pointers, and I told him he did well.”
“I think he’s just more used to how the Other Coach (who is never around) does things. The Boy says he doesn’t want you in his corner.”
“Why doesn’t the Boy tell me this?”
The Dad puffs his chest up, “I’m telling you now.”
At this point I let a little bit of the rage out. Standing on my tiptoes to look square in his eyes, “Are we going to have a problem?” I ask.
“No,” the Dad just backs off a little, “it’s just that maybe he needs more time to get used to you.”
“Fine.” I don’t curse, or yell, or even throw my hands up in exasperation. I just offer a “Good luck” to the Boy and walk away.
This interaction pisses me off for a few reasons. The Staff also insists on me throwing a list (everyone loves lists) into every update, so let’s list this shit:
1) The Dad is stroking his own ego, not training his son- I really think that the Dad has his son in wrestling because he likes the way it feels when he contributes to his sons W/L record. From my seat, it looks like the Dad enjoys the immediate gratification of his son pinning shitty local kids with junky JV moves more than he enjoys the idea of his son learning how to wrestle a technical style that will work in college. The Dad doesn’t want his Boy to work on the single leg takedown, because that takes time and effort to develop; why do that when the Boy can just pick top in the 2nd round and run an arm bar? WINNER
2) Do some fucking parenting- The Boy is 9, so I expect him to throw a little tantrum when I criticize his wrestling, but the Dad should fucking know better. Any rational parent would tell their child something along the lines of “Your coach only wants you to get better. He’s trying to get the best out of you by showing you what you need to work on,” and then come talk to me in private later. The Dad, however, essentially told his shitty kid that he doesn’t have to listen to his coach. That’s a hard impulse to beat out of a kid’s brain, especially when they hit adolescence.
3) I’m the Boy’s coach for the foreseeable future- The Other Coach that the Dad likes so much won’t be around past next month. That leaves me as the Boy’s coach for years to come. I’m not going anywhere soon, and the Dad doesn’t have the clout to get me fired over this; we’re stuck with each other and now the Boy has precedent for not listening to me.
4) I’m trying to get the Boy to wrestle “Our Style”- If the Dad doesn’t like the way I coach, he should pack up and go somewhere else; we’re teaching the wrestlers the basis for the style the high school team uses. To succeed in high school and to be seen as a “team player,” the Boy needs to have a good single. Full stop. If he waltzes into 9th grade with shitty takedowns, the coaches will tell him the exact same things I’m telling him right now. If he pulls a prima donna [ED. CJak actually thought the phrase was "pre-Madonna"] and acts like he knows more than the coaches, that’s it. He won’t wrestle varsity, because there will be 3 other more coachable kids ready to take his spot, no matter how good his arm bar is.
We can go on an on about the life skills that I want to teach the Boy, about how this is part of my inability to put parents in their place, or about how I'm getting a little loggie in my early twenties, but let's get out while we still can. I want to get home to see my wife and kids, ya know? This may sound contradictory in the light of my 1,7000 word trade, but this is really no skin off of my back. The only person who really suffers, long term, in this shitty situation is the Boy; the Dad is holding him back from success in a nationally ranked wrestling program. If the Boy doesn't become a great wrestler, get a college scholarship and build a happy life, do I really miss out on anything? Of course I'll find satisfaction in him living up to his potential, but I'll also find satisfaction in the Dad throwing it all away to stroke his own ego. I promise I'm a good coach and not a shitty person. Well, only a little bit of a shitty person.
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