Requiem for a Soccer-Dad Coach

Bob C died Sunday. Liver cancer bore him off in less than a month.
Bob was a soccer-dad coach and one of the good guys. Like most men of
my generation he didn't know squat about soccer. His chief
qualification to coach was that the youth soccer club his
kindergarten-aged son was signing up for needed volunteers. He
checked the box.

I met Bob at the clinics the club sponsored to help coaches learn.
Our sons were the same age and we saw each other often at the fields.
We played against each other various times during clinics and at
coaches games. Bob never developed much of a shot; his dribbling was
clumsy; even I could deke him out of his shoes. But that didn't
matter. It didn't matter because it was never about Bob. It was
about the kids.

If you played on Bob's team you got:
* the time, attention, effort and enthusiasm of your coach
* a boatload of encouragement or consolation as needed
* a pure sense of fun
* his best efforts to teach you the fundamental skills.

"Those who can't do, teach" is supposed to be pejorative, but in
Bob's case, it was high praise.

Bob is the second of our coaches in three years to die. Both had sons
the same age as my youngest son. All three boys are in my religious
ed. class at the parish. Next class is going to be rough.

Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.