A guest post by Larry Weber
Even though it was over 32 years ago, I remember this incident like it was yesterday. My baseball coach was standing toe to toe with an umpire on the third base line. As the argument over the call became more heated, with one swooping motion, his baseball hat came off his head and flung to the ground with such vigor that dust spread from the spot where it landed.
My coach then proceeded to pick his hat up, dust it off with a flick of his wrist and while maintaining the upper hand in the argument, throw it down in disgust once again, within inches of the first landing, except this time he would stomp on that hat with his right foot for emphasis. And before that umpire could toss my coach from the field, he picked up his hat, dusted it off again, turned his back to the umpire and walked off the field into the bleachers, without saying another word. He knew how to win, even when his team wasn’t.
For me, this story began much earlier than that day on the ball field and this story is reminiscent of the goodwill and effort of all coaches in small town Saskatchewan; however, this man was the exception to every non-written rule about coaching. He did not have the required coaching certificates of today – he did not need them because above all, he was a motivator. He was the personification of a winner as he not only created hockey and baseball players, he shaped boys into men.
Besides baseball, I was also privileged to have this man as my hockey coach from the time I first laced on skates and waddled like a duck with a hockey stick, within the confines of the brand new Edam Vawn Playdium. I wasn’t much of a skater back then; too tall, too gangly and too meek. I don’t think my feet and brain started synchronizing until I was 13 years old, although some would say today that it still has not changed. I don’t remember much of his coaching before I was a teenager although I do remember he was synonymous with the hockey rink. While my early years in sports were uneventful, in the formidable years while I was 13 to 16 years old, this man would have an enormous impact shaping the life of this teenaged boy from the Prairies.
I still remember the first “vocal lashing” I received in a hockey dressing room. Our room at the time was next to the hallowed dressing room occupied by the “Edam Three Stars” and as all local minor players still do, I pined for the opportunity to play for the red and white.
During this particular practice, our coach was readying our team for the upcoming Provincial hockey playoffs. After a 90 minute skate where we continually did lines, circles and ended with laps upon laps, we retired to the dressing room. As our team was slowly taking off our equipment, our coach came into the room and stopped right at my feet as I was unlacing my skates. My head was lowered when I saw his feet and I dared not look up.
“Geezus H… (Those of you who knew him, will know the rest of the line) Weber, look at you, you didn’t even break into a sweat!” as he continued to look for a bead of perspiration anywhere, “What do I have to do to get you to sweat?” I learned that day that anything less than 100% was not appropriate, even if it was only a practice.
While hockey was a winter pastime for our coach, his true sports love was baseball and that became evident when the grass turned green each spring. I was 13 years old when I began playing organized baseball and when coach approached my parents to play in Edam rather than with the local team in Vawn. Our local team was organized only to play in the sports day held annually. I was a pitcher but knew nothing about baseball. Up to that point in time, my throwing skills were honed throwing rocks at mud hens in our dugout – lots of rocks.
His patience with me was unwavering. Learning to pitch from the stretch and set was soon second nature, as was the devotion that our coach had to our baseball team.
Edam entered the Provincial Bantam playoffs that year and advanced to the final four in Fillmore, SK and again the following year in Churchbridge, SK and then to Leader, SK in the Midget finals, the year after that. It was in Leader that 10 baseball players from the tiny village of Edam, SK – population 290, and surrounding areas, made local history. In 1976, Edam won the Midget Provincial Playoffs. In the Provincial Midget baseball playoffs in 1976 there were no population divisions and in order to win, Edam was required to beat teams from Saskatoon, Regina and the host team from Leader.
The untold story of this team is how this coach’s passion was transferred to his players and for one weekend in Leader, SK, the little team that could, did everything our coach asked of us. We learned that special weekend that you can overcome any obstacle if you have passion and drive. Our coach never gave up on us – and we watched how he out-coached and out-maneuvered each team we came up against. Other teams were more talented – but they did not match our coach’s heart.
Although I have had many coaches and mentors during my tenure on this planet – I will always have only one coach.
It is with deep sadness that my coach, Paul McCaffrey of Edam, Saskatchewan, died December 21, 2006. At his request, there was no funeral – no fanfare and no final goodbyes. Heaven forbid someone might actually fuss about him.
It should come as no surprise that years ago, the ballpark in Edam, SK was renamed “The Paul McCaffrey Ball Park”. Like the baseball diamond that grew from a corn field in Iowa, Saskatchewan has its own Field of Dreams – albeit born from Paul’s field of rye.
Those of you volunteering your time coaching today – know that it may take years for your advice and guidance to sink into children’s and teenagers’ thought process – but it will, and I am a walking example of that.
For all who pass “The Paul McCaffrey Ball Park” on Highway 26 in northwest Saskatchewan, let the record show that above all, passion is one of the greatest gifts you can instill in your children.
Farewell Coach and in my version of Field of Dreams, please take time to have a game of catch, with my Dad.
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Great tribute. I grew up in Gravelbourg and I too have special memories and feelings for a couple of my ball and hockey coaches. They were special people and when I think back to my days as a young boy I inevitably think of them.
Thanks for the beautiful tribute, Larry (and Kate), a fine way to start the new year. I’m not the sporty type but I had some very fine teachers I revere to this day, who sound a lot like Paul McCaffrey: really tough, uncompromising, utterly dedicated to their subject [sport] and passing the flame on to us. Those were the days . . .
PC and its labyrinth of rigid rules and regulations have eviscerated most of the Paul McCaffreys of this world: our kids are supposed to be treated like hot house flowers lest their fragile egos get bruised and their lives ruined. Of course, this is utter poppycock. We’re actually turning out pansies–the reasonable kids kept soft and pliable by the dumbing down they receive–or weeds–the cynical little toughies who milk the system for all it’s worth.
This crazy PC society’s letting our kids down big time: despite the bureaucratic obstacles, it’s people like Mr. McCaffrey who recognize the potential of even the most reluctant kid and have the tenacity and guts to keep the bar high and the pressure on. Kids know that it’s this kind of teacher/coach who really respects them and has their best interest at heart. And, like Larry, they respond in kind.
I salute you, Paul McCaffrey. There are a few such heroes still around, who remain under the radar because their kids trust them and “don’t tell”. If they do tell, the authorities will take their word in a second: in the twinkling of an eye, the integrity, record, and life’s work of a Paul McCaffrey are considered expendable. It’s enough to make a grown person cry.
God bless Paul McCaffrey and all who love him. May he rest in peace.
A wonderful tribute to a great man. One does not have to be famous or in the national spotlight to be great. I too had my very own “Paul McCaffery” who influenced my life. He is also departed. God bless both these “great men” for everything they did.
…moving piece no doubt, would be interesting to hear from the other kids in the picture what they are doing now and how their lives were touched by coach McCaffery.
Coaches have a tremendous influence that is often overlooked by others. They can shape, as Larry Weber said, “boys into men”.
A coach can also damage. Growing up, my coaches, one in particular, would yell, berate, and physically slam us against the lockers in order to get us to win.
Sure we won a lot of games in the Vancouver/Lower Mainland area but we played out of fear. Heaven help you if you were out of position – he’d yell your name at the top of his lungs…along with “BOOB!!!”
The result of giving 110% into every game/practice spilled into other areas of life – everything was a competition. Work, friends, & family.
Some would say this is a good thing for young men – to focus their energies and become ‘successful’ in life.
Unfortunately it also has negative feedback.
It was hard for me to play “pick up games” with other kids…even into my adult years – I just had to win.
Tell me is that normal?
It wasn’t till I became a Christian and I self-imposed stop playing all sports to get that attitude out of me.
It took 6 to 7 years before I felt I could once again engage in sports. I still play hard, but the sting to win isn’t there any more. What freedom!
So yes, coaches have a major influence in a child’s life. Hopefully coaches can balance that doing one’s best and striving to be better is important, but also winning isn’t everything.
Sure the “official” medals and trophies I got over the years are nice, but interestingly the only trophy I treasure is one given to me by buddies from a small church league hockey team I played with. It is corny and partially broken, but reminds me of a time when I played “for fun”.
Encouragement goes a long way.
PS: my nickname was “Crash” –
http://www.tomax7.com/thoughts/my_biography4.htm
Great tribute Larry!
When we’re young, we tend to take for granted the things people do for us.As we get older we start to realize all the little things that different men and women did to help shape the type of person we’ve become.
thanks for sharing this
Great tribute to a man who gave a lot. We were lucky to have a guy like that in my home town in Manitoba, Pop. 800.
The same story is repeated in small towns all across Canada, and I think helped to form the character of this country.
Tomax, I think the episodes you mention were more a big city thing, because in a small town, you have to face the folks you interact with almost every day.
Our coach was endlessly patient, and I don’t remember him ever yelling at anyone. He brought kids together , from very different circumstances, well off and dirt poor, and after three years together on the same field, we learned respect for others.
One metis kid, whose WW2 veteran father was the worst alcoholic in town, and there were lots of those, was brought onto the team by our coach, over the objections of a few “rich” kids. The coach made us call him by his real name, instead of the derisive nickname we had for him, and made us treat him as an equal.
I was the pitcher, and had a fastball that no one wanted to get behind, so our Coach asked for volunteers to be catcher. The metis kid was the only volunteer, and he became a hell of a good catcher. And no one one that team ever said a mean word to him again.
The team only lasted three years, but the time there is among my best memories of growing up in Manitoba. Our old coach is probably long gone, but I’ll always remember the lessons he taught us. Thanks, J.O.
dmorris: you are probably correct, it being a big city thing. As I read the story and comments, something in me sometimes wishes I had grown up in a small town.
But I digress, my point is coaches hold a powerful and unrecognized role in our society – hopefully there will be many more good memories for others.
Coaches do have an influence on kids over the years, but it is also reversed. My husband coached little league for several years in the late 1960-1970 era. He gave every kid a chance to play that wanted to play. To this day, when these young men come home to visit or attend events, they all come over to say hello. We were invited to graduations, weddings etc. Those who stayed around here always say hello or stop for coffee. Contact with these kids, over the years, has kept us very involved in what is going on. His proudest tribute came from a man he never met. Our son moved to Missassagua years ago to work. He tried out for a semi-pro team, and made it. His coach said, who taught you to pitch and he said my dad. Who did he play for, he replied and our son said, a bunch of farmers who played twice a week, and won several league titles. Must have been some team was the reply.
It is sad that today the main focus on everything seems to be to find the negative and not the positive in a person.
Just read the comments in the g&m re the woman who drove thru a fence to see Harper. One commentator said, Belinda in disguise. I wonder what the feminists think of a woman deliberately putting herself in danger. She must be suffering from depression, or some other excuse.
Happy New Year to all, and hope there are not too many hangovers suffered by the posters.
Thinking about Paul McCaffrey, because I knew giants like him when I was younger, is bittersweet: the PC legalistic systems we have today are decidedly unfriendly to giants. Cutting them off at the knees is the present strategy of mediocre powers that be. Very sad.
Thanks, Larry, for the good thoughts and memories your tribute brought to me today. I still remember the lady who coached our women’s fastball team at Bayard and it wasn’t until I was much older and began coaching teams myself that I appreciated all the time and effort Anne gave to her girls. Coaching is one of the most rewarding things I have done and anything I have put in, I have gotten back tenfold. I read some of the earlier comments posted and I would hope more tolerance would be shown to people who give freely of their time with good intentions to bring the spirit of sportsmanship, teamwork and friendly competition to local kids. Those characteristics stay with one for life and many of us who lived in rural districts have been served well by those who serve others.