Coach Flip Naumburg's Journal

Thursday, February 9, 2006

I'LL TAKE DARRYL LAMONICA FOR $200, ALEX

I have used two names this season for metaphorical impact that have never been in my coaching tool kit before.  In fact I doubt if they are names I have said out loud more than a handful of times….ever.  There is surely no inherent meaning to this, only my own simple reflective amusement, as in, "What the hell was I thinking about?".

So one day early this season one of our senior leaders attempted to force a clearing pass to a teammate that might have looked heroic had it been successful.  It failed, as I knew it would while I watched the momentary disaster unfold.  To me the whole concept was a mess.  The pass should not have been thrown and I wanted him to know it.  Always looking for the psychological edge I sauntered over and by him immediately after the moment was over and I said something to the effect that I didn't want his testosterone to ever hurt our team, and something about don't try and be Bart Starr.  WHAT?  WHO? Did I say Bart Starr?  No big deal, except that he hasn't been famous since before most of these kids' parents were kids.  Their PARENTS had never even likely heard of Bart freaking Starr.  Oh my. Only Vince Lombardi still echoes as a name from the days of the 1960's frozen Green Bay tundra.  Oh, and then the other thing that is funny is that Bart Starr the quarterback never did anything too dumb or too daring for all those championship teams he played on.  That was left for the also-rans, Johnny Unitas and all those other Mad Bombers from the 60's like Sonny Jurgenson and Norm Snead.  Back to the present, I'm there more or less yelling at this kid for being too daring with his long pass and here I'm using totally conflicted and obsolete metaphors across the board.  I guess what is really funny is that in spite of all this the "kid" knew exactly what I was trying to say right then.  Who is the dummy here, Coach?

RAMS AND DOGS

Last night we tasted practice Nirvana.  We had a practice while enjoying more than warm enough weather here in February.  It took place outside and under the lights, the location was on campus, and the surface was the Nexturf stuff I love so well.  It (practice) was too short of course.  We had to get off to make way for the eight women Frisbee players that are preparing for….wait, what are they preparing for exactly?  I'm sure the eight of them filled up the whole gridiron nicely.  NOT!

At any rate we now have access sometimes to this great, fairly new facility on campus that is the practice field that had been donated to the football program a couple of years ago by an older lady who had/has a whole lot of money, and apparently some kind of crush on football coach Sonny Lubick.  This is part of what will ultimately become the total "house that Sonny built" here at CSU.  However short the time we are allotted, and whenever it be given to us, I feel blessed and grateful to be able to borrow this very flat piece of synthetic green real estate with lines on it from time to time.

Anyway, I was out there enjoying the evening very much.  What I was and am NOT enjoying right now is watching our team "ground ball".  We are not frenzied Labrador Retrievers using my chosen and preferred "like a dog" methodology.   Our ground ball getting has recently more resembled little lab rats running around looking for the easiest way to the cheese.  I'm not happy.  I ridiculed them openly in a circle last night.  In the most mocking way that I could I acted out the basic and proper way to go about picking up an actual ball off of the ground with their sticks.  The philosophy of it all will have to wait until some semblance of technique on a team-sized level shows up.

I'LL TAKE NORMAN ROCKWELL

At one point I made reference to the fact that I didn't want us to go all "Jackson Pollack".  Did I say that?  Yes I did.  A couple of them got it, God knows how.  I explained that Jackson was an artist who had a painting style that closely resembled, and excuse my French, taking a paint "crap".  His creations had no symmetry, and his paintings depicted nothing but colored oil paint thrown on canvas.  Symmetry is all that I seek as coach.  Execution of simple tasks is what I demand.  Jackson spit in the face of all that and got famous doing it.  I'll bet the guy couldn't have drawn a horse with a pencil if his life depended on it.  The irony is that he likely made a lot of money making a mess with paint and promoting Jackson Pollack. 

I don't miss the sixties, and there is no way I could live through women's lib again.

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