Hey Coach
A trip back to the Bay is good for the soul and even better surrounded by good Coaches
I lost a hat and lost a brand new pair of sunglasses this weekend. But I got a better hat, made a bunch of new friends who all call each other Coach, saw old friends and family, and compiled another list of memories for why we live.
Best trade ever.
This past weekend was my annual “football bucket list” trip with friends. It’s now Year Eight. The concept is attend a college football game and an NFL game in the same weekend, preferably some place we’ve never previously been. We’ve been all over the country. The games are fun, but really, it’s about connecting with people who make your life more fulfilling.
This year’s trip was a Homecoming for me, back to the San Francisco Bay Area. We saw a fabulous USC-Cal game (my first trip to the remodeled Memorial Coliseum in Berkeley) and the Bengals-49ers game (my first trip to Levi’s Stadium).
My crew for these trips has varied, but the regulars are Matt Hurst and Dan Hayes. Unfortunately, Danny had to cancel at the last minute (we missed you bro), which left me solo for 12 hours waiting until Matt arrived. No problem at all. This is my home.
While waiting for Matt, my cousin played Tour Guide, guiding us onto a Cable Car, a tour of Alcatraz Island, and the ultimate San Francisco meal: clam chowder in a bread bowl. We walked the streets and met up with a friend to catch some of the World Series, felt some shaking that seemed like an earthquake, talked about the ’89 earthquake Series, then realized it was an earthquake. Ahhh, welcome home. Two more friends arrived, then another.
Our home base was The Bus Stop in Cow Hollow and that’s where I finally saw Matt. I would give shoutouts to all the fun people I met. But other than bartender Jesse, and Bus Stop owner Joe, I didn’t get anybody’s real name. They all just called each other Coach.
Why Coach?
“Because we’re all each other’s life coaches.”
Heck yes. I’m so down with this philosophy and want to spread it around.
I’ve previously had a tricky relationship with the word Coach.
When I played youth sports, my dad was usually one of the coaches — and a darn good one. These moments on the fields helped us bond. I never knew whether I should call him Dad or Coach, and that can be awkward. I’m most proud that, unlike many other youth coaches, my Dad had the right perspective on winning and playing time for all the kids on the teams.
I went to a basketball camp at Sonoma State University as a teenager, the Bill Cartwright Basketball Camp. Man alive, it ruled. First time living in the dorms, a mostly empty college campus, three times a day we’d hoop in the gym. In between, we’d eat, play video games, play in the pool. What a week.
Anyway, I remember all the coaches called each other Coach. I always thought it was because nobody could remember anyone’s name.
I once worked one of those early season college basketball tournaments in Las Vegas. Longtime UCLA coach Jim Harrick was the color analyst. I rotated doing play-by-play and sideline reporting with some other broadcaster. It was eight teams, four games a day. That’s a lot of names to remember. By the end of the weekend, Harrick gave up trying to remember names. He just called everyone Coach: me, the Director, the Producer, the referees. Even on the air, he called everyone Coach. He’d bump his leg into mine and give me a wink each time. It was fabulous.
As a student journalist, back in the day, we did a lot of coaching each other. We didn’t have an Advisor or really any faculty supervision. (That’s the way we wanted it too.) A lot of those coaching lessons stick in my mind. One was that you never called one of the coaches Coach.
Because they were not our coach. In the pursuit of credibility, we didn’t want the coaches to look at us like we were one of their players, where they could tell us what to do and their word must be followed. I believed in this philosophy as a 19-year-old college student and still believe it strongly.
I roll my eyes when I hear a reporter, of any age, refer to a coach as Coach. That’s the ultimate amateur move. In baseball, this is even more egregious because it’s a Manager, not a Coach.
Anyway, let me jump off my Journalistic soapbox, and get back to the weekend. My anti-Coach belief is for professional settings. Trust me, there was nothing professional about this weekend, except for being a professional at having fun.
Coach is fun to say. Coach just rolls off the tongue. Plus, it truly is helpful when you meet a bunch of dudes and can’t remember everyone’s name. The ridiculousness of everyone calling each other Coach is even more fun. Even on a micro level, it feels good when someone calls you Coach. It feels good when you can make someone feel good by calling them Coach.
A Coach has wisdom. When you ask Coach a question, it means you care what they have to say. When someone calls you Coach, it’s snaps you alert to give effective life advice.
Even if I haven’t always called them Coach — the usual terms are Mentor or Friend — I’ve surrounded myself with them in my life.
A lot of my life coaches were back together this weekend, pausing their own lives to float in for a good hang, in a weekend where time was very much an abstract concept.
We attended a tailgate in Berkeley. We learned the Host had a grandfather who hosted the tailgate for 40 years, then gifted it to his grandson with the instructions, “don’t screw it up.” Because, you know, sometimes the best Coaching is honest Coaching. So far, the new Host is making his grandfather proud.
We definitely got the Berkeley experience. The start of the game was delayed because of a protest at midfield. The start of the second half was delayed because they had to play the final second of the first half. The game was epic. Cal was up two touchdowns. USC tied it, took the lead, Cal scored a touchdown, and decided to go for the win. They two-point try failed and they lost 50-49.
The fans around us in the stands were all good people. You call tell they have good Coaches in their lives. You had fans from both sides who cheered for their team. Nobody got mad when the other team did well. We had plenty of fun spirited debates on when to go for two and when to kick the PAT. It’s the way Sports are supposed to be.
We attended another tailgate in Santa Clara for the 49ers game. After our arrival, another Coach comes over, introduces himself, and tells us to eat and drink anything we want. This is how Sports brings us together. If a stranger shows up at your house for a party, it’s doubtful you let them inside. But if you’re outdoors, a few hours before a sporting event, you ask what they want to drink and tell them to dig into your spread.
It’s weekends like this that make me realize how ridiculously fortunate I am to know so many good people, who also know so many good people, who just want to share life’s best experiences and make more memories.
I honestly don’t know why I flew back to Albuquerque. I didn’t listen to the Coaches who advised me to stay a few more days and offered a bed.
Shoutout to cousin Danelle for being a tour guide and hanging with my friends. To Brownie, and Schmitty, and Jacob and Donnie and Sioban, and Sean and Masharika, for the laughs, the wisdom, the warmth, the beds, the rides, and the Coaching. Shoutout to Matt Hurst, the ultimate Life Coach, for bringing the energy and love on these trips, and having a knack for making friends faster than me.
The final shoutout goes to Joe Wallace for being an unbelievably generous Host and coaching up all of us Coaches so well.
Joe is the new-ish owner of the Bus Stop. If you’ve ever lived in the Bay Area, you’d probably been to the Bus Stop before. It’s a legendary spot that’s gotten even better.
For all of San Francisco’s charm and history, the City has never really specialized in great Sports Bars. But let me tell you, the Bus Stop is the ultimate Sports Bar. You had a bunch of Wake Forest fans in there early Saturday to watch their team. It’s become a gathering place for Bengals fans over the last two decades. So much so, they had two Party Buses take fans from the Bus Stop to Santa Clara for the game.
If you’ve never been, do yourself a favor and stop in. Enjoy all the old photos of San Francisco, the autographs of celebrities and athletes who’ve come inside, and the friendly vibes oozing amongst regulars and newcomers.
And yes, you should definitely call everyone Coach.
Apparently I point a lot in pictures. I should stop that. Or give you better options. Can't wait to hang with Chris Berg in SEC land soon! These weekends are always a highlight of my year.
Miss you Suchon! Come visit us please!