James

James was a big, strong power forward on my A team for the 1994-95 basketball seasons. He was a very talented player physically. He had the body to challenge anyone under the basket, but James had a timid heart. After seeing him pushed around as a seventh grader by smaller and less talented players, I reached my breaking point early in James' eighth grade season.

"No!" I screamed at James one day in practice as he allowed a smaller, but more aggressive, player to push him out of the way for an easy put back basket.

"What do you want from me, Coach?" James screamed back at me. "You're never going to be happy with the way I play."

I started to answer him, but then I realized there was a grain of truth in what James said. Instead of merely encouraging him to be more aggressive, something totally contrary to his nature, I was constantly riding James for every little thing he did wrong, instead of applauding the multiple things James did right. I let him walk off the court to get a drink of water so he could cool down.

From that point on, I only made positive comments to James. If he had a mental lapse, I held my tongue. James was smart enough to figure it out for himself, and usually corrected the mistake the next time down the floor. Occasionally, a teammate would speak to James, but after that outburst during practice, I never corrected him.

Besides James, the team only had one or two marginally talented players. We finished in the middle of the league standings and were eliminated in the first round of the playoffs.

At the end of the school year, James and his mother walked around to all of his teachers and coaches and had us sign his baby book. In his baby book, he had every teacher's signature since he attended kindergarten. I was truly touched. James taught me that no matter how talented players are, they are still kids, not NBA prospects. I only coached two more groups of players after James, but I kept a much cooler head the last four years I coached compared to the first ten.