I could have coached better.
quote by Dan Devine
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So Coached To Manifest Infestation
I hope they don't believe,
That a validating of their stupidty...
Will come to free them.
It is there and clear...
The initiator of current conflicts,
Wants nothing to do with the ownership of it.
And the choice to rid others from this cancer,
Begins the finalizing of their end.
Unfortuately people who think like this,
Are here to destroy.
Not to build and uplift.
And they have no idea what is done that they do!
So coached to manifest infestation.
So coached to manifest infestation.
So coached.
So coached.
So coached.
So coached.
So coached to manifest infestation.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I coached against Dave the last couple of years, and I was very proud to be the first time a father ever coached against his son. He beat me for 30 minutes the first time and 59 and a half minutes the second time.
quote by Don Shula
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Gary Speed
Glory came early as did fame.
to Gary Speed there on the pitch.
Cheers he heard from adoring crowds
among the elite he found his niche.
With time’s passage he lost a step
even if he felt the same
but as he ran he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.
He coached to stay around the game.
After the cheers for him had faded
A friendly face, a familiar name
but as he coached he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game.
For many, Gary was an icon,
a living legend of the game.
They failed to see the mortal man
with silence weighting on his frame
As he tied the rope he thought he saw
an old man’s shadow
in a young man’s game
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Too Long In Happiness
Did you expect to find me saddened?
Returning as a 'gift' to lift my spirits,
From darkened caverns of despair?
Hoping to build and boost me as your new project...
As you coached me through a narrow tunnel vision!
Something you suspect,
You placed and left there...
By a quick and regretted decision?
You have an expression of shock I witness.
Neither am I bitter...
Nor has hope for me been stopped!
Are you surprised I have no tears to drop?
What are you planning to plot on this 'visit'?
When you left without explanation...
And I saw you unexpectedly,
With a ticket to board a train at the station.
I knew right then you were setting me free!
I admit I was then a bit upset...
But something came over me!
I wasn't angry upon this sight I met!
I saw myself with a life you had stalled.
I chose to heal...
I chose to stand tall.
After bouts with doubts you left.
And after my emotions were torn as I crawled!
Realizing you were the one that had done this all...
I never looked back!
You made me see you were not worth that!
You made it clear you were not my destiny.
That was definitely a 'no no' for me!
Did you expect to find me saddened?
Returning as a 'gift' to lift my spirits,
From darkened caverns of despair?
Hoping to build and boost me as your new project...
As you coached me through a narrow tunnel vision!
Something you suspect,
You placed and left there...
By a quick and regretted decision?
I'll prepare you lunch.
And when you are done...
Disappear.
I wont allow you to smog my fresh atmosphere!
Is it clear...
I have been too long in happiness without you?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Coach Joe
Thirty years gone by
My senior year
Past many sunsets
Playing baseball
Coached
By an icon named Joe
His two hundreth win
Was hard to get
When it finally came
This game, Ill never forget
We started the year at eight and 0
His win total, at one ninety-nine
Lost eight straight
Then, we lost our minds
The celebration cake, got stale
Doing nothing right
Though we tried, with all our might
Depression, set in
Would he get that
Two hundreth win?
Hooray, It did finally arrive
Extra innings
A game for the ages
A tear in his eye
Again, this team was alive
'It's the little things'
He would say
That count in this game
On this field
In life, in every way
He called us knuckle heads
At times, he did yell
Was he joking or not?
Hell, we could'nt tell
My seven brothers
Were coached by this man
Giving all he had
To this small town clan
As long as I live
I 'll never forget
He called us by our last name
Knew everyone of us
[...] Read more
poem by Matt Mondschein
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III. The Other Half-Rome
Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!
There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Francisco Garcia could have been a high draft choice last year, probably in the 20s. He's the best wing player I've ever coached. But he's done it the right way. He knew he had to work on his body to become a good pro. When he goes into the pros, he'll be physically ready.
quote by Rick Pitino
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My high school coach was Ray O'Conner. He has coached a lot of players that have signed professional contracts, and many of those have gone on to play in the major leagues.
quote by Robin Yount
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I think the sport of wrestling, which I became involved with at the age of 14... I competed until I was 34, kind of old for a contact sport. I coached the sport until I was 47. I think the discipline of wrestling has given me the discipline I have to write.
quote by John Irving
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I have been coaching recently. I coached high school basketball in Arizona, and I hope that more opportunities become available.
quote by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar
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And I coached against Mike when he was an assistant with the Bears and they won that football game.
quote by Don Shula
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Somebody Get My Mom
Woke up today in a van
Traded my pillow for a Miller Lite can
And in two more days I lose the guitar that I hawked
Slurped down a beer then one more twelve ounces later
I was outside your door and the pebble i threw
Was probably more like a rock
Then I fell, skinned my knee, broke my glasses, got stung by a bee
I lost my wallet and my car keys too
And to make matters worse, I'm coming down with the flu
Somebody get my mom cause i think something's broken again
And I don't want to be just friends, I said thanks for the ride
I'll just limp back inside cause I don't want you to see me cry
I just want my mom, somebody get my mom
I just want my mom, get my mom
Authorities came, I guess I was gone, next thing you know
I'm passed out on the lawn and boy did I wake up fast
With a rotweiler's tongue in my mouth
Wrote you a note but it got soaked when i went deep sea fishing
And I fell out of the boat and got caught on the trout line
And wasn't found for three days
Then I fell, skinned my knee, broke my glasses, got stung by a bee
I lost my wallet and my car keys too
And to make matters worse, I'm coming down with the flu
Somebody get my mom cause i think something's broken again
And I don't want to be just friends, I said thanks for the ride
I'll just limp back inside cause I don't want you to see me cry
I just want my mom, somebody get my mom
I just want my mom, get my mom
Mommy, she makes me cobbler cause i hate pie
She coached baseball when we needed her
We lost every game but to her came in first
And I'm so glad that she met my dad
I wouldn't be here if she never had (let's go)
I guess this is it the end of the song
Just my luck, nobody sang along
I guess I'll put dow this guitar and take the mongoose back home
Somebody get my mom cause I think something's broken again
And I don't want to be just friends, I said thanks for the ride
I'll just limp back inside cause I don't want you to see me cry
I just want my mom, (I just want my mom)
Somebody get my mom (somebody get my mom)
I just want my mom (I just want my mom) get my mom, m-o-m-m-y
]
song performed by Bowling For Soup
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I spent my first twenty years in Morocco, where I coached the national team.
quote by Just Fontaine
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All I can say is that I'm going to try to coach the way I've coached in the past. And if it ends up not being good enough, then so be it.
quote by Steve Spurrier
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I've had too lengthy a career and coached too many players to make a choice.
quote by Chuck Daly
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I lived in a town of 400 until I was like nine or ten. My dad coached all the sports - he was a gym teacher and health teacher for grades K-12.
quote by January Jones
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The Golden Age
Long ere the Muse the strenuous chords had swept,
And the first lay as yet in silence slept,
A Time there was which since has stirred the lyre
To notes of wail and accents warm with fire;
Moved the soft Mantuan to his silvery strain,
And him who sobbed in pentametric pain;
To which the World, waxed desolate and old,
Fondly reverts, and calls the Age of Gold.
Then, without toil, by vale and mountain side,
Men found their few and simple wants supplied;
Plenty, like dew, dropped subtle from the air,
And Earth's fair gifts rose prodigal as prayer.
Love, with no charms except its own to lure,
Was swiftly answered by a love as pure.
No need for wealth; each glittering fruit and flower,
Each star, each streamlet, made the maiden's dower.
Far in the future lurked maternal throes,
And children blossomed painless as the rose.
No harrowing question `why,' no torturing `how,'
Bent the lithe frame or knit the youthful brow.
The growing mind had naught to seek or shun;
Like the plump fig it ripened in the sun.
From dawn to dark Man's life was steeped in joy,
And the gray sire was happy as the boy.
Nature with Man yet waged no troublous strife,
And Death was almost easier than Life.
Safe on its native mountains throve the oak,
Nor ever groaned 'neath greed's relentless stroke.
No fear of loss, no restlessness for more,
Drove the poor mariner from shore to shore.
No distant mines, by penury divined,
Made him the sport of fickle wave or wind.
Rich for secure, he checked each wish to roam,
And hugged the safe felicity of home.
Those days are long gone by; but who shall say
Why, like a dream, passed Saturn's Reign away?
Over its rise, its ruin, hangs a veil,
And naught remains except a Golden Tale.
Whether 'twas sin or hazard that dissolved
That happy scheme by kindly Gods evolved;
Whether Man fell by lucklessness or pride,-
Let jarring sects, and not the Muse, decide.
But when that cruel Fiat smote the earth,
Primeval Joy was poisoned at its birth.
In sorrow stole the infant from the womb,
The agëd crept in sorrow to the tomb.
The ground, so bounteous once, refused to bear
More than was wrung by sower, seed, and share.
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Austin
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Not Into Spinning Cut Paste Conversations
Just one soul,
Sincere!
And not into spinning,
Cut paste conversations...
Clipped from over usaged,
With what is expected...
Another wants to hear.
Those with approaches,
Whether coached or surfaced tapped...
Seem to lack originality.
With a rehearsed premeditation attached.
A socialized conditioning,
Overdone and redundant trapped...
Begins with meaningless trite expressions.
With an emptiness that packs...
Every reason to deliver,
A yawn or two that attracts a catnap.
Just one soul,
Sincere!
And not into spinning,
Cut paste conversations.
Clipped from over usaged,
With what is expected...
Another wants to hear,
That would give a person purpose,
And a reason to chat...
With a comprehension to match.
'If I wasn't horny,
I wouldn't be here seeking a mate.'
~If I didn't have preferences,
You would be ideal.~
'Well,
At least we've got 'that' out of the way.
Have a good evening.'
~You too!
And by the way...
Here is my number.
I will be expecting your call.
For some reason,
My preference list just got a bit shorter.
Who knew I'd meet someone like you? ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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With Faith To Face Unknown Obstacles
Coached to approach one's life,
Without the feeling of intimidation...
Is more than a task to ask,
To be done to do by anyone...
With no one there clearing a path,
For that one who takes risks...
With faith to face unknown obstacles,
Every step of the way.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If You Do Not Want To Be Understood, It Is Alright With Me
one thing with
you is that
everything is
conceptual
ideas coached
always
in general terms
and so i
do not really like
it
but somehow
you have the
reason
to want to
communicate
to impress to me
that you better
be just loved
for what you
are
and not
be understood
at the
same time
perhaps
i love you
because
i do not
understand
love
at all
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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