Coach Hamann

 

Luca exists in a blob of 4-10 boys. It’s an unstoppable mass of arms and legs and b.o. that crashes into homes, consuming all snacks in its path. The good news is all the boys in this blob are kind and hilarious and tolerate my special brand of stupid dad.

A few months ago the blob decided to join a flag football league. They really wanted to play full contact football with pads and helmets, but…Evanston. The blob doesn’t care what kind of football because the blob just needs to keep playing. Blob is play. Play is blob. 

The flag football games took place at the big inflated indoor fieldhouse across town. On the outside, it looks like a giant, quivering marshmallow. On the inside, the stench of 1,000 tweens hits you in the face like a bucket of socks.

On the morning of the first game, Luca and I arrived the Hamann-required 20 minutes early to meet the coach. Instead of a coach, there was just a pile of uniforms. As gametime neared, the pile didn’t magically turn into a coach. The blob didn’t seem to mind, but we dads felt it was necessary to have a coach. 

Luckily, an Alpha Dad stepped up. He is an E.R. doctor, so, you know, qualified. He coached the blob to a huge, lobsided victory. His technique was to stand on the sideline and do and say very little. The blob was so in sync that the just rolled over the other team. Blob is play. Play is blob. 

This went on for the next couple weeks until Alpha Dad had to go out of town. This left the blob coachless. The blob nominated me to coach. Not because of my apparent skills, but the blob thought it would be funny to see the unathletic, glasses nerd stand on the sidelines.

In the days leading up to the game, I asked Luca what I needed to do.

“Just say, ‘Good job,’ and stay out of the way.” I could do that.

However, 24 hours to gametime, I started to get pretty nervous. What if they needed actual coaching? What if they played a team who could stand up to the blob? What if they lost under my non-coaching? I came very close to having an old school panic attack, but my brain miraculously turned off that spigot.

The morning of the game, I asked Luca if I would try or if I should act like a hilarious goofball. He thought for a moment and said, “Um. Maybe in between?”

My addition to the coaching regime was stretching before the game and doing that thing where you put your hands in and go, “One two three roar!” Which I would say only 50% of the blob understood for its delightful irony.

The blob crushed the other team. Blob is play. Play is blob. I mostly stayed out of the way and said, “Good job.” But after seeing the sad faces of the other team I suggested maybe we lighten up a little bit? The blob laughed. The blob destroyed. 

I barely got to congratulate Luca on his play before the blob moved on to someone’s house to eat all their chips.