For Those Who Don’t Understand
March 12, 2009, by Homme De Sept-Iles
You watch a game you’re not a part of. You sit on a couch thousands of miles away. Might as well be. (Your oasis is blind; a bridge a plane plummets toward)
I see this guy on interviews, after the game (a rare happy smoker’s smile – ex-smoker?): before the game (before the pain), during the game – stressed, sucking ice, chewing something else, fighting refs, stoic, disbelieving, mirth-filled, angry, silenced, amused, irritated, concentrative.
They hear the words he says (holding back his honesty; Holding. It. Back.) the tone, the context you sometimes know (he just won, he just lost, the press is hot tonight, the fans are booing or other combinations).
We fancy we know something of the man. Maybe we do.
We see him every day on TV, on the ’Net. Read his words. He’s the coach. And some feel he is doing his best. And I empathize, sympathize.
For all you who vote, or buy cds or watch the Oscars, the talk shows – we make (or don’t make) decisions based on our impressions.
The coach is gone. It’s no one-word answer. It isn’t fair but it feels right. It is sad but intriguing. An old friend is gone.
You never forget those that made an impression on you. A unique imprint. A writer’s words can resonate long after death. Accurately? For some. A coach’s deeds, for some, are always a part of the player.
The coach is gone.
Long live the coach.
The coach is gone. They’ll miss your smile.
* * *
For those who understand: When Montreal wins, someone has to hand Carbo the trophy first.
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