The End

Thunder Buddies

Today our practice was ended by a thunder strike. Can you believe that they make us cancel practice for thunder? Not lightning - thunder. Oh, wait...thunder is the sound that is caused by lightning. No, nevermind. That makes sense. 

A few months ago I wrote this piece about my return to the coaching ranks. 

Since then, the varsity team has won ten games and lost four. We had players get COVID. We had broken hands, broken arms, and broken legs. We had concussion protocols. We had players leave the team and we had players come back. We moved players from attack to midfield and started freshmen and sophomores all over the field. We had a first-year player that has never played team sports become a starter.

The JV team beat Division one and Division two teams for the first time ever. The JV’s also lost just one game because the opposition was so incensed that they lost the previous contest against us that they played their seniors. We put seven varsity players on the all-state team. We have the defensive player of the year in our ranks. 

Tomorrow we play in the New Hampshire state semi-finals. 

I’m bewildered. I’m thrilled. I’m terrified. (Again)

But mostly, I’m at a loss because that might have been the last time we get a chance to practice together as a team. And...I didn’t expect to feel the way I did when it ended so abruptly. 

We called the players into the huddle. I tend to close those gatherings out with some final words of wisdom. This is all I could come up with: 

“Life is about opportunities and chances. Tomorrow, we have an opportunity to keep playing. To be together and have a chance to win a championship. So, we’re going to make the most of our opportunity. And then we are going to move on to the next opportunity. But we can only do it together. Right?”

**Muted** 

“Yes, coach”.

**Yells**

“RIGHT?”

**Less Muted**

“Yes, coach!”

We closed out with a team cheer. All the players hustled back to their cars and left. I walked to the other side of the field to collect the balls that were shot onto the girls’ field adjacent to ours. I kept thinking about how lame my speech was. How it should have been better. How this could be the last time that I go fetch the stray balls that [mostly I] shot past the dividing backstop. 

I thought back on all the other teams that I coached. All my other players. My boys. I bent down to pick up the last ball. Water dripped onto the back of my hand. I smiled and walked back to the ball bucket. 

I coached lacrosse for 12 seasons. It seems like a lifetime ago. Every one of those seasons had a moment where I wished it would just be over. 

Season thirteen has been different. 

This time I kept my promise.