The best part about my son’s basketball practice takes place after the drills and fun contests to see who can sink the most free throws or three-pointers.
When practice wraps up, coach Charles Phillips summons the 15 Georgia Hornets to center court for a huddle.
He tells the guys to take a seat, not slouch, then begins to talk. If players are consumed with other tasks, like running their mouths, he’ll gently ask if they are done.
Then, after a recount of practice, his talks touch on topics most of the guys have heard a gazillion times, about matters that have been dressed up and trimmed down by their parents, guardians, teachers and, maybe, friends. By people who care.
You know they’ve heard it before. Some players smile sheepishly at the mention of turning in homework. Others drop their heads.
Miles glances occasionally at me when coach says certain things, but it’s not an acknowledgment to say, “Pops, you’re right.”
Parents can say something over and over, but it rings a tad truer when it comes from someone else. Like a coach.
Phillips’ talks stretch beyond the spring season of the Youth Basketball Association of America. They touch on life. They’re practical and pertinent as it relates to narcissistic teens. Free of feel-good glamour and glitter.
He doesn’t try to feign hipness, to be one of the guys, and that alone makes him cool. He’s coach. The leader who signed on to teach victory on the court.
My sense is that he wants to nudge them in the proper direction off the court, too. Not all coaches assume such responsibilities.
In that vein, homework must be done, he tells the team. Keep your grades up. No pass, no practice, no play.
Phillips has been a youth league coach for 20 years. He started when his son played and went on to earn an athletic scholarship and play pro ball in Europe.
Coach is grounded in reality, though, and seeks the same for these ninth-graders.So after a recent practice he laid out the likelihood of any Hornet playing pro ball. Suffice it to say our kids probably won’t make the big leagues.
And that’s why education is more important than a sweet jump shot, he tells them. Life is bigger than basketball.
Everyday ordinary people do extraordinary acts and deeds that don’t see daylight. I wouldn’t call them heroes. Just individuals who work for the greater good and go unnoticed.
Because of that, this space will periodically be dedicated to such deserving, unassuming civic-minded folk. People of leadership and integrity who see the big picture; who probably would never position themselves in the spotlight, unless it would further a noble cause; who are the antithesis of the “leaders” we see on TV, hear on radio and read about in print.
Let’s call them the Big Picture Man or Woman. If you have a better name or know someone worthy, please contact me.
And just in case it escaped you, today’s column debuted the first Big Picture Man.
Thanks, coach.
Rick Badie, an Opinion columnist, is based in Gwinnett. Reach him at rbadie@ajc.com or 770-263-3875.
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