Your head coach is a tireless taskmaster who spends only five seconds savoring a victory before going back to sucking all the fun out of your sport until it is no longer a sport, but rather an endless, grueling death march. It’s no wonder fans and media alike adore him. What a fun-loving free spirit is he!
The modern head coach or manager is a different animal from years past. He isn’t involved in as much hands-on coaching and strategic planning as you might expect. In fact, you may barely see him during the week. Be grateful for this, because he can be a moody prick. His responsibility is to delegate work to an army of assistant coaches, and then to painfully micromanage each one of them as they do that work. A head coach is also responsible for structuring practices, coordinating travel schedules, managing communications between staff, handling press relations, and commissioning his own portrait. When you think about it, he’s kind of like an event planner. I bet that Bill Belichick could plan one killer business luncheon. With sandwiches from Così and Orangina and everything.
Your coach is also in charge of handling the requisite mental coddling of athletes. The twenty-first-century pro sports team comprises multiple players who believe they are the centerpiece of the franchise, including you. The head coach’s job is to dupe all of you into believing that this is the case, while simultaneously getting you to play unselfishly without even knowing it. Tricky? You bet!
But a good head coach knows how to pull it off by massaging your ego. How? First, he brings your ego into a serene, candlelit room. Then, he puts on a very relaxing Enigma record. Then he sprays a fine eucalyptus mist into the air. At this time, your ego will start to feel very loose and relaxed. Then, he oils up his hands real good and rubs your ego all over, starting at its core and then branching out to its furthest extremities, including the portion of your ego that helps suppress your love of Nora Ephron films. Then, after a brief pause, he turns your ego on its back and furiously pumps it up and down until it becomes engorged and finally achieves full release.
Needless to say, Phil Jackson is excellent at this. Andy Reid? Not so much.
All coaches today face an inescapable catch-22. In order to win a championship, a coach must win your respect. But in order to win your respect, he must have won a championship. In fact, he must have won many of them. After all, Barry Switzer won one Super Bowl. And we all know Barry Switzer has an IQ below room temperature.
In order to gain the respect necessary (not a lot, just enough) to get you to play to your potential, all head coaches fall into two distinct camps: the Disciplinarian, and the Player’s Coach. Disciplinarians, or “hard-asses” in the common vernacular, are coaches who try to earn your respect by being complete and utter dicks. Typically raised by a drunken father in a rural portion of Pennsylvania, disciplinarians enjoy taking their sad, isolated childhood out on you by constantly questioning your commitment and riding your jock like a stray crab. But, should you do something extraordinary, the disciplinarian will show a mild form of approval, such as an ass slap or a quick nod. The idea here is to get you to believe that you can, through hard work, melt the disciplinarian’s heart and get him to love you. It’s sort of like Jane Eyre, and you’re the jailbait governess. So fucking hot.
Player’s coaches, also known as “spineless pushovers,” believe that they can win your respect by treating you like a man. Considering that most athletes live in a state of suspended adolescence, this is not a well-thought-out strategy. The player’s coach will offer positive reinforcement, leave his door open at all hours, play pranks, take you white-water rafting, set few curfews, and carry about as much authority as a substitute homeroom teacher. He may also have a candy dish in the office. Get there early in the day and you can probably snag a handful of Snickers Minis. Norv Turner is widely praised by players for his frequent candy-dish refills.