A nice GrothE story from Greg's blog

[E.T.]

Here's a good Grothe story Leavitt offered this week: Wednesday morning, players knew it'd be a light-hitting practice because they were scrimmaging at night. Leavitt goes around checking for thigh pads and finds nine players don't have them, so he sends them back the quarter-mile or so back to the lockers to get them. Grothe takes off running, runs back, misses maybe 10 minutes of practice at the most. The other eight walk there, Leavitt says, and I can see them walking back when Leavitt starts howling at them, angry that they're taking it slow on the way back from something they messed up in the first place. Anyway, there's some third- and fourth-year guys in the walking group, and I think it impressed Leavitt that Grothe ran off and back when they walked. Little things like that can go a long way with a coach.

http://blogs.tampabay.com/usf/

[Grateful Dad]

What would it be like to have a son in Matt's position?  What would that be like for a father?  I don't mean having a son on a college football field and getting to watch him try to earn a starting spot.  To a father who truly loves his son, football is only a vehicle by which a dream is realized.  So much time is spent by a father hoping and praying that their children will have dreams of their own and pursue them and guard them with tenacity.

I think of what that would be like -- to sit in the quiet times and share that dream with a son.  To listen as he day by day goes through the trials and shares them -- the disappointments, the uncertainty, the lack of confidence, but also the focus, the slow unfolding of steps leading to success, and the joy in his eyes as he works toward it.  We don't often think of the lessons we learned "on the field".

My field was a cross county course.  I ran long distance with many people wondering why.  I had no business being out there because, frankly, I wasn't good.  The only two people who encouraged me were my father and my coach.  I remember that at an awards banquet one year to which my father accompanied me, I was introduced as a runner who had no natural talent -- but the most heart of any runner on the team.  My father later told me that this was one of the proudest moments of his life.  He also told me that night that he had been told the year before by my surgeon that I would never run again after I had tore my knee up in my Junior year.  He said that he never told me because I would limit myself give up on my dream of making the Varsity team.  I finally made it in the last race of my senior year.  You see, for some reason known only to God and fathers, we invest so much of our lives into our children's dreams.  In so many ways, it means more to us than to them.  Not for our egos or edification, but for what those dreams mean to our children.

The two men who taught me to believe in my dreams, to ignore my body when it told me that I couldn't go on or that the dream wasn't worth it, or to just take one more step are both gone out of my life.  My dad passed away two years ago after seeing me become disabled (like he was) but to push through that disability -- against the advice of two doctors -- and finally work to earn first a B.A. and then a Master's degree.  No one in our whole extended family had ever graduated from college.  It was the lessons and dreams that my father and my coach gave and sustained in me that made my recovery possible.  My coach is in N.Y. and the last e-mail he sent asked that I don't respond anymore as I have over the last thirty years.  His brain cancer is now terminal and it has become too hard to correspond for him.

We have all -- at least the fortunate ones -- had people like my dad or coach in our lives.  One book I have read calls them the "Balcony People" -- those who sit in the balcony and cheer us on.  For us, it is necessary to have someone pick us up and brush us off and tell us we can do it when we don't believe in ourselves.  But for those who keep our dreams alive, it is lifegiving.  It is a gift that will always be remembered.  Flip, I envy you and salute you for what you are doing for Matt.  I know it isn't for you.  I have a son, too.  Make the memories and make lots of them.  We are only here a short time, but the lessons live forever.

[bulls96go]

great will he start

let find out if this kid is ready or not!

[RagingBull]

Grateful Dad,

Thanks for sharing your story, I was moved by it. My son is 4 months old and his personality is starting to form. It is absolutely amazing. Your words were inspiring. I only hope I can be to my son what your father was to you.

Thanks for reminding me of what truly matters.

Take care.

[Bullpride08]

Grateful Dad, that was one of the most beautiful posts I've ever read.  My hats off to you, and as a father of two young boys, one that's nearly five, I'll take the lessons taught in your post to my grave.

All I can say as a father is Thank you for that beautiful post, and reflection period.  It was one we should all consider and remember as we talk about these kids.  All of them have families, all of them have dreams and we can only hope their dreams coincide with ours on the football field, but if not my hats off to those kids that tried, competed, and became Bulls!

Again, great post, and one for the Hall of Fame!

[E.T.]

Amen GD !

[JoeB]

Who were the guys that weren't hustling?  Good for MG, but the other 8 apparently didn't get it.

[Grateful Dad]

Well, you are certainly welcome, but E.T., I gotta tell ya, I almost wet myself when I read this:

Amen GD !

;D ;D ;D ;D ;D