Coach Flip Naumburg's Journal

Friday, March 25, 2005

WHASSSUPP, DOC?

My first college lacrosse coach was a real live Western Renaissance Man named Doc Stabler.  He was already pretty much too old to be much of a lacrosse coach by the time my path crossed with his, but to this day I have known no one who has loved the game and the team as a concept more.

I was standing under the shower stream after my noon "workout" today.  This is where I do much or perhaps most of my good thinking.  Come to mention it, wouldn't it be nice if I could have a hot, full-pressured shower near the sideline during games, perhaps a little elevated as well, so I could just watch the game with water pounding down on my head to give me that altered state point of view I like so well?  That, of course, would be a scary scene, all too visibly true for the outside world to see, so that won't work.

Anyway, so the water streamed over and down on me, and blah de blah, and then old Doc came into my "mind's eye", and I looked right at him, and I said to him, "I'm getting there, Doc", meaning getting old, like he was from the time I first knew him. 

THERE ONCE WAS A GIRL FROM NANTUCKET

Now Doc was the kind of a man who liked a good joke, but he was truly a man who loved any kind of limerick.  A simple, and I do mean simple Irish poem with a few dirty, rhyming words would make this very old man squeal like a teenager.  So there he was today, looking at me (in the shower) with a look as if to say he had just heard a new one of them (Limericks) not long before.  Let's just say he had laughter residue on his face, and then he said straight away to me, "It goes by in the blink of an eye, doesn't it?" And then he was gone.  Yeah, Doc, it sure does.

DOCTOR ROBERT M. STABLER I PRESUME

There are several lacrosse awards and endowments in Doc Stabler's name.  There are Stabler plaques given to high school and college kids in Colorado every year for high lacrosse achievements, and deeds of fellowship, too.  I'm sure that most or none of the recipients of late has a clue about who this man was other than the name that is on his trophy.  I think that is a shame, because Doc managed to somehow be a wonderful mix of "Character" and lacrosse "Pioneer".  I know I am a better person for having known him, and it's just too bad it (the better person part) didn't take hold before he passed so he might have seen that, but you do the best you can. 

DOC's NEIGHBORHOOD

Maybe the best way to describe Doc in today's currency, or in the current way of thinking is that he was a totally politically incorrect human who lived in a time when that was the norm.  He also was world renowned as a college professor, and for breeding falcons in captivity (Ornithology?). He knew all about bugs, too (Entomology?).  He had an honest-to-God reptile zoo in his office.  Jim Soran and I coached with him later, in the late 70's, and we would drive on out to his Venom Valley Ranch, which is now 4 gas stations, a self-storage place, and a Holiday Inn or whatever on Garden of the Gods Road, and we would "go over the line-up", which was otherwise known as keeping him, the old man, Doc, company.  Jim always made me go.  He (Jim) was the real good deed doer, not me, and nothing has changed in over 30 years on that account. 

The old place was a real ranch then. That was back even before "the day". There were birds nested in the barn and Apaloosa horses wandered the spacious corral. Shady oak trees lined the lane, and rattle snakes sun bathed on rock outcrops all over the place. We parked on the dirt next to the wooden fence, and then we'd walk up and rap on the back porch.  "Come on in, boys.  Get yourself a Coke", he would bellow from afar.  They had an auxiliary full sized refrigerator just inside the never locked screen door. 

When I opened that old electric cold box, I would find the six ounce (?) little bottles of Coca Cola, and more often than not right next to them would lie a freshly killed white mouse or two that he had raised and was about to serve up as lunch to his Boa Constrictor or the Gila Monster, and by the way, Doc did the killing of mice and doves for "pet food" Ozzie Osbourne style, by biting and twisting the necks of his victims. 

Then the three of us would casually set there in the office and chat about lax for hours, and I know I must have learned a lot of my love for the game from old Doc, at his knee as it were. Here was a man living well into the winter of his life, but his passion for the game of lacrosse was the kind that comes from a little boy in the springtime. It was happy and unconditional.

Doc also had a basement of significant size and it was all full of old (they were old then) wooden sticks and leather helmets.  That's where the whole "pocket" thing first hit me.  What I would give to take a stroll down there today.

DOCTOR, DOCTOR

Doc had lived on this Venom Valley Ranch for years and years with his wife Sally, and her sister, Mary Alice. The sister, like Doc, also taught at the Colorado College, and we would find out much later that he knew both sisters equally well in the biblical sense.  You Dog, Doc. They were just one happy (and weird) little family, I guess.  Actually that was just the tip of a much larger genetic iceberg.

HEY DOC

So, I just wanted to get a shout out to you, Doc.  I don't know what made me think of you today, but I'm always glad when I do.

Next Entry | Previous Entry


Flip Started Blogging Before it was Cool, Read Over 400 of His Entries Since January 2001
Jump to a Period:
2006: Jan Feb Mar Apr May June July Aug Sept Oct Nov
2005: Jan Feb Mar Apr May June July Aug Sept Oct Nov Dec
2004: Jan Feb Mar Apr May June July Aug Sept Oct Nov Dec
2003: Jan Feb Mar Apr May June July Aug Sept Oct Nov Dec
2002: Jan Feb Mar Apr May June July Aug Sept Oct Nov Dec
2001: Jan Feb Mar Apr May Sept Oct Nov Dec