THE ACE BENCHVARMER Lora Grandrath (Assignment: Yrite a comparison of two coaches, teachers, or bosses you have had in order to define what for you is the essence of good coaching, teaching or managing.) ( 1) "My name is Shelly Freeman George--just call me Shelly--and I'm going to be the new tennis coach here at City High. Before I tell you a little about myself, let me start out by sending a clipboard around. On the sheet, I want you to write your name, grade, phone number, and all your tennis experience. That includes how many years you've taken lessons, varsity experience and letters you've won," directed the woman of about twenty-seven years. (2) "Okay, now I'll give you a little background information on myself," she said, after handing the clipboard to the girl on her right. "I grew up here in Iowa City and I too attended City High School. I then went on to play tennis at St. Ambrose College but later transferred to University of Iowa where I continued to play and eventually graduated. My husband, my little girl, and I now live here in Iowa City. My husband and I own Cedar Valley Tree Service, which he runs. I am U.S.T.A. (United States Tennis Association) certified, Vice-President of the NJTL (National Junior Tennis League) chapter here in Iowa City, and I am also a certified rater of the Volvo Tennis League. (3) The clipboard eventually wound its way to me. I glanced at the names and information already written down; I didn't like what I saw. These people had been playing for years! On the other hand, I hadn't taken a single lesson. I had decided to go out for tennis that year on a whim, for something to do. I now felt that I had made a big mistake; I was not even close to the caliber of others.

(4) I filled out the information anyway: Lora Grandrath, sophomore, 338-3499, none. Ugh! I felt so stupid putting down that last part, but I figured I'd give it a try anyway. Yhat the heck, I thought, the coach was new and we were all new to her--not just me. She had never seen any of us play so we would all start at the same level. Best of all, she couldn't have any favorites already picked out. I hated it when coaches had favorites. (5) For about three weeks, we did nothing but drills and ·a handful of ma.t ches against fellow teammates. Shelly would circulate around the courts, watching players' strokes. "Good forehand" she'd say to me occasionally, or "get your racket back sooner." The latter was said more often than the former. I'd get so nervous when she would approach my court; all I wanted to do was make a good impression. I always hoped for a

23 positive remark, but when she would correct me, I felt as if I were letting her down. (6) To my surprise, Shelly placed me at number seven which was much better than I had expected. She must have a lot of faith in me, I thought. I remained at seven all season, playing JV singles. Once I even got to play a varsity singles and doubles match. (7) Throughout the season Shelly paid a lot of close, personal attention to me. She always had me practice with the varsity players and often she would stay after practice to drill me. "Turn your hips! Get your racket back sooner! Keep your feet moving!"--! heard these so many times. It discouraged me at first. But I heard the same criticisms so often that they became the norm.

(8) I signed up for a summer tennis clinic that Shelly invited me to join. I developed a whole new backhand with her help. She spent several hours giving my two-handed stroke a rehaul. It became my strongest stroke and my best weapon. Shelly then signed me up for the advanced fall clinic. Now that I had a backhand, my forehand was in dire need of some construction. Throughout the fall months Shelly and I concentrated on my one-handed stroke. It took longer for my forehand to become a threat than my backhand, but Shelly kept plugging away. "You're not turning your hips! Get your racket back!" How sick I got of hearing the same thing over and over but I kept working at it, trying to get the darn stroke right. I was ecstatic when I received the occasional "good forehand." (9) I continued improving until I was beating top varsity players. I was astonished at my new level of ability. Each night I would go home and tell my parents how well I had practiced or whom I had beaten. They were very proud of me, but no one was more proud of me than Shelly. She had invested so much time and effort in me and it was starting to pay off. Until winter came. (10) There was another tennis clinic in the winter, but I wasn't in it. I was going out for my other sport-­ basketball. I could tell Shelly was disappointed in my decision but she didn't fuss. I didn't want to let her down, but there was no way I could do both; basketball just took up too much time.

(11) I was really looking forward to this basketball season. Now that I was a junior, I could play on the varsity team. Ve also had a new varsity coach starting this ~eason--Don R. Brown. I was glad that he would be our new coach because I strongly disliked the former one. Later I wished he had stayed.

(12) Coach Brown ("Coach" to his face, "Don R." behind his back) was not new to teaching or coaching at City

24 High. A veteran history teacher, Coach Brown had coached the varsity boys' basketball team for man years and was well respected throughout the school. Because of his teaching experience and the ability of the players on my team, I had high expectations for both the team and Coach Brown. (13) After less than a month of hard practicing, we had a few scrimmages and a tournament. By the end of the first scrimmage, I could pick out his favorites; his favorite players and his favorite benchwarmers. I was on the benchwarmer list. (14) Our team was quickly eliminated from the tournament. "Don't worry, we're just beginning," he'd say. Our first game--we lost. "A learning experience," he'd explain. Our second game--a blow-out. "Ve're improving," he'd assure us. But nothing changed. He would change neither our offense nor our defense. He wouldn't even change the players; he kept playing the same people and benching the rest of us. The results also remained constant--loss after loss. Game by game our dignity was being stripped away. After our ninth, tenth, and eleventh straight losses, we began to wonder if we'd ever win. A few girls even quit the team. (15) Still, little changed. Don R. continued to play his favorites. No matter how poorly they were playing, he'd keep them on the court, using no more than four or five substitutes. Sometimes he would isolate a player and feed her passes, offering advice on her shot. However, the girls he was helping were consistently the same girls who were playing the majority of the games. He paid very little attention to anyone else.

(16) Finally our long losing season came to an end. Ve had a perfect record--0-19. Ve were now in the sectional tournament where you play until you lose. No problem, I thought. Ve'll lose our first game and this awful nightmare will come to an end. Suddenly, however, he decided to make a change in our defense. The result was phenomenal--we won! Our first game of the season! Now maybe he would realize that what our team needed to win was more change.

(17) Unfortunately, however, his change was too little too late. That first win was also our last win. Our season was over. Seniors cried, juniors were disappointed, but we benchwarmers were relieved. As Coach made his speech about how much he enjoyed the season and working with us, all I could do was sit and watch the players. He wasn't talking to me; he was talking to only a few, the elite. I sat and watched the star of the team bawl into a drenched towel, the assistant coach sit blankly in the corner with tears running down her face, some junior players stare at the floor with red faces and sweat streaming down their

25 heads.

(18) Two months ago, I went home for Christmas vacation. I had to play in an alumni basketball game--Don R. was our coach. Surprisingly we won, but I knew our win had nothing to do with our coach's ability. Despite the win, I did not enjoy playing under Don R. Later that week, I hit with Shelly. I hadn't played tennis since October when I went out to play with her. "Turn your hips!" she yelled from the other side of the net repeatedly. I knew I wasn't hitting well, but I didn't mind her scolding. I liked it. I missed it. I well knew the difference between playing for a coach you admired and one you didn't.

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