Earlier in the week, one of my daughters represented her high school in track for a final time at the State Class MM Championships. It's been an incredible journey watching both of my girls and their teammates run these past four years. I enjoyed watching them and somehow managed to make nearly every single meet. This was no easy feat considering track meets often began during the middle of the work day.
The advice I gave my daughter as she prepared to step onto the track was for her to run as fast as she could and to leave everything she had on the track.
Now, this is certainly not new advice. In fact, it's a cliche. To tell the truth, the advice is not even inspiring. Who hasn't given some variation of that advice to someone preparing to take the field? I continued, "You will never represent your high school competitively again. I don't care if you come in last place, I've been so proud of you and your sister these past four years that it doesn't matter to me."
Again, there's nothing really awe inspiring about the preceding sentence. What father isn't proud of his sons or daughters.
Sensing that I really hadn't motivated and was actually giving a ho-hum speech, I was reminded of my last truly inspiring speech.
My St. Mary-St. Michael School basketball team had made it to the finals of the Greater New Haven Parochial Athletic League Championship game. We were playing a powerhouse team that we had never beaten, but had always come close.
"Girls, I know you could beat this team. The last time we only lost by five and had a lead going into the fourth quarter." At this juncture of my story, I need to back up and describe the final minute of that game.
Somehow in all the excitement, I had lost track of the score. We were fouling and putting the other team on the line with the hopes of climbing back into the game during the waning moments.
With three seconds left, one of my players hit an unlikely three-point shot and I ran out along the sideline like a lunatic..."Time out, time out, time out," I screamed at the referee as I made the time out signal to him.
The girls came to the sideline and I plotted my strategy. "Girls, as soon as they inbound the ball, you need to foul. You can't let any time go off the clock. If you get a chance to steal the inbound pass you need to kick it out for a game tying three point play. This is our only chance to send it to overtime."
It was at that moment when one of the players said, "Coach, but we're down by five."
I thought for a moment and without missing a beat said, "Well, I got nothing. It's been a great year."
Once again, I was foiled by math.
Anyways, back to my speech.
"We had them the last game and let it slip away. Girls, I'm not going to talk about basketball. You all have the skills to play and win this game. I want you to look at the crowd that has been to all our games. They are your moms and dads. Your uncles and aunts. You have their blood flowing through you and do you know what is common about all of you? You are from the Valley. The Valley of Champions. Everyone knows we turn out the best of everything. We have the best football, basketball, and baseball players. We have the best cheerleaders. We make the best leaders and we are tremendous in all that we do. It is that Valley blood that flows through you that will lead us to victory tonight."
I was on a roll. I could see the intensity in the girl's eyes. Tears were starting to flow down the cheeks and I knew I had them fired up.
The game started and within three minutes we were down 18-2 and it was game over. So much for motivational speeches.
Back to the present.
I told my daughter that I don't think there's an ex-high school athlete anywhere who wouldn't like to have one more moment on the field, court, diamond, mat, pool, or whatever the sport may have been.
She looked at me and I realized that I had her attention.
I told her that I look back at my life and dream of getting the opportunity to play just one more time.
I realize some of you will think all ex-high school athletes live in the past and dream of "Glory Days." Agreed. Go into any local watering hole on a Friday night or especially around Thanksgiving weekend and you will hear tales of athletic prowess told with such clarity that you would swear the game just ended instead of the thirty, forty, or fifty years that had passed.
However, as I explained to my daughter, I dream of getting the opportunity to play just one more time because I know my dad would be there standing on the sidelines like he did so many times while I was growing up. I know my brother would either be standing right next to him or more likely annoying somebody much bigger than he and then running away when the threat of things getting physical would become very real.
I think of playing that last game with Mark Tucci and Walt Lungarini on the field with me and some of my other departed classmates who would surely be in the crowd.
On the sideline would be coaches DeFilippo, Zuba, and Biondi. Holding the first-down markers would be Joe Daddio and Danny Dege yelling, "C'mon Derby, Baby, Boy."
My daughter responded by saying, "Wow dad, that's really deep."
I smiled as we finished our talk and I prepared to drive her to the field. I watched her run that final lap knowing that one day she'd have her own tales to tell and perhaps in the not-so-distant future she might find herself thinking about getting the opportunity to play just one more time.
