Coach Taylor, Who Floats
Often, when a situation contains wild variables and a high percentage of failure, a plan is developed. The outcome is idealistic. The plan equals success. You tell everyone, everyone tells you, this plan is going to work. The plan can get more complex and more real as it matures, weaving its surroundings into the mix. It can expand. It can become all-encompassing, depending on how close you are to the plan. Purpose fills the air. A united front is formed. More and more help to avoid catastrophe.
Until the plan fails.
On Monday December 12th, 2016 my high school basketball coach, Jeff Taylor, lost his battle with cancer at the prime age of forty-three. Today, now, I sit here and think that around a decade ago I was mid-season with this leader. The plan to keep him alive, to continue thriving on earth, failed. And then life and plans and battles and purpose and meaning and leaders became more clear.
My father spent a great deal of time with him during the multiple battles with the disease. While there was an incurable condition on the inside, it was impossible to not associate Coach Taylor with his other traits: thick skin, the early bird, durable, a roller to all the punches, the Galileo of inbound plays, spiritual advocate, The Champ. And for my entire tenure under him: unbreakable. My father is a surgeon, and for better or for worse, this means he has seen the entire spectrum of recovery and demise – and specifically how an individual copes with the final struggle. But he found out something new with this patient. He told me he discovered a new meaning to the expression “terminal illness”. And to quote him:
“I now believe nothing is ever terminal, as long as you leave something behind. Nothing technically ends.”
And that discovery means a great deal to me. And now to many people. This belief of what terminal now means is widespread in a town in middle Tennessee.
When Coach Taylor was diagnosed he took this as an obstacle like anything else, he started his preparation. He implemented a rigorous physical regimen until he found himself in the best shape of his life. Because if he was dealt The News, he was going to start at the highest point possible. And to quote my father again:
“Jeff moved the curve. He extended his life out of pure grit.”
This preparation had a dual purpose. It helped him prepare for the moment when he would be immobile, leaving him with only his thoughts as his body physically hurt at every hour. Most of us reading this are not aware of what its like to feel intense unwanted life-threatening pain. We can bring upon very intense pain, sometimes life-threatening, but climbing Mount Everest or running an ultra-marathon is wanted pain. And you can decide if it stops. The mental preparation around this eventual unwanted pain is a colossal feat. His greatest fear was for his attitude to betray him, shifting from courage to self-pity. He feared the “why me?”. And how that could be his final state. This is not how the greatest competitor wanted to interact with the world during his final days.
He didn’t lose that battle. He stayed strong. Even when his body failed, when he couldn’t stand or walk, he kept his mind strong. He began to search for an even deeper understanding. He begun to reference how basketball was “The Landscape”, this platform he was able to use to impact the world. He believed it was an extension of him, a tool to help him complete his purpose. To use it for good. To fight evil. To seek enlightenment. To teach.
And if you had the rare opportunity to complete the entirety of his four-year apprenticeship, or ever had the chance to spend a fair amount of time around him while on the job, you would have been dealt many fascinating lessons. You would have discovered that no matter how talented you thought you were, you are actually way less talented than that.
That improving a free throw percentage, something so repetitive and unimaginative, will center yourself.
That an intense emphasis on help side defense causes you to gradually care more about your teammate than your opponent.
That being sat down for a short while will help you stand up for a long while.
That you can shuffle your feet at an impossible rate at 6 AM, if the penalties are obvious enough.
That it is possible to lose control of simple body functions, such as casual dribbling and speech, when warming up for rivalry games.
That rewinding a tape has direct correlation to the success of your future films.
That no matter how talented a player might be on the court, they can fail as soon as they step off it.
That an obsession around personal statistics is synonymous with mental fatigue.
That, perversely, it is often more rewarding to get your teammate open than vice-versa.
That opposing fans with the exact same socioeconomic and/or geographic background can have an intense disliking for your upbringing simply brought on because of color and letter combinations on your jersey.
That your muscles will always look smaller in post-production.
That some referees, officials of the event thus your current existence, do have unwavering favorites.
That complete solitude late at night in a banner-mounted gym can and will vault you into the cosmos with those before you.
That relying on isolation will do to you exactly why the word was defined in the first place.
That if you sprint extremely fast to a fallen teammate that put a herculean effort into obtaining a loose ball or rebound in order to help them up, without anyone commanding you or without any penalty if not done or in any way or form of trying to get credit for it, it is almost its own euphoria.
That if you stop thinking you can hustle, more.
That the ability to court women, while on a court, never compares to the propaganda of sports cinema.
That it is possible to learn valuable things from a student-assistant.
That a silent three-hour bus ride across the frozen tundra of rural Tennessee following a conference loss can not only be meaningful, but sacred.
That every high school player is identical in their secret unspoken belief that they are sad about not reaching the next level.
That strapping on clunky unsexy off-brand ankle braces anytime you come close to a piece of hardwood creates this habit that must compliment pilots, doctors, or anyone else that is meticulous in order to mitigate the chance of total collapse.
That you often have to pass to someone that is in direct competition with your playing time, and learn to like it.
That other schools don’t exactly clean the space you need to operate as a locker room – or think to tell anyone to do so.
That a suffocating defense can close a real human viaduct.
That an away game means people won’t be there.
That the ugliest and most abusive opponent communities trying to create an unethical sense of Fear often are the ones that deal with an unethical sense of Fear at other times.
That the most cliché words can carry you through the most difficult doubts.
That concession stand menus vary little across geography, academic prowess, or historic success. This is either frustrating or exciting based on your personal diet in unmonitored juvenile settings.
That when a Senior Night goes well, goes as planned, that God really could have a personal interest in you.
That there is this ancient facet to each one of us called spirit, and it can be found, and it can exist.
As can waking up one day and your idea of a team and season not exist anymore. There was a point during the middle of my senior campaign when we were asked to gather in the locker room, without a few of our most talented and critical pieces. We were then dealt an unfortunate update. The players were permanently kicked off the team due to poor decisions the night before, consequently derailing the special run we anticipated to close out this special chapter.
What happened next was a memorable project.
Due to the high-level competition remaining on the schedule, there was no more guarantee of automatic scoring with the current roster. Left was at best slightly above average isolation play, and depending on the player and spot on the floor, well below. Coach Taylor made an immediate transition to the Princeton offense. If you are unaware with the Princeton offense, it is as unappealing of a strategy possible in the flashy sport of basketball. This is an offense centered around excessive passing combined with patience and awareness of the other four teammates at a nauseous level. It has almost gone extinct due to repulsing newer generations. But there lied its beauty. Isolated efforts at this point would have led to distrust, and inevitable self-destruction. And during a transition so sensitive and vulnerable to contagious doubt, we found a way to play not concerned with failure all the time. We kept terror at bay. And with each excessive pass you locked eyes with another teammate going through the same baffling transition that no one predicted or wished for you until you eventually found it soothing to an extent, before turning and preparing for the next monotonous rotation. And you just kept doing this. Cutting. Screening. Curling. Passing. Cutting. Screening. Curling. Passing. We were forged together in a new way, unified by pure grit, believing with all our might.
That team will most certainly be lost in the collective archives and memories of the community as time passes. I don’t even remember our final record. However it wasn’t till much later I realized that was a preview of life, and that you are going to have to encounter these trying scenarios, over and over and over and over again. The reaction one decides to have becomes your greatest definer.
I imagine during the final stay he had the intense moments that no amount of coursework can have us prepared. The movie of his life began to play. The freedom of his youth. The chanting gymnasiums. The final embraces as his players exited the court. The birth of his child. Then, the questions that we will all face at one time or another. In this brief existence, was there a contribution? Did I give the gift to anyone?
People who are somehow stricken with heavy circumstances and unfair demises, they either curl up in the shadows of misfortune, or else they rise – shining way above the rest of us not dealing with the ultimate fate.
Coach Taylor floats, for me, for every single one of his players.
