I’m sure I first met Bob Oakley in the early to mid ‘70s. He was a coach at Louisville High School and I was NOT an athlete, so our chance to intermingle was limited. At least until the summer of 1978.
That was the year I coached Coach Oakley’s then 9-year-old son Sean in little league baseball. I was 19-years-old at the time, and to be honest it’s always a little intimidating coaching the son of a coach.
But, I must tell you, he never gave me any trouble. In fact he was very encouraging.
This past Saturday I had the honor to drive up to Louisville from my home in Lauderdale County to officiate Coach Oakleys funeral service. It was unique to say the least.
Basically I opened the service with a prayer, and a short story about Coach Oakley, then others walked up to the podium and took turns sharing their personal memories of the man they knew so well.
Here are the things I learned: He loved His family, He loved the Mississippi State Bulldogs, He Loved the St. Louis Cardinals, He loved golf, and he absolutely HATED to lose. That’s what makes the story I’m about to share even more fascinating to me.
My 1978 Eagles team went 10-2 and had to claw and fight to get into a first-place tie with the Electrics, which meant there had to be a playoff. When that bunch of 9-and-10 year-olds squared off for the championship game there were at least a half-dozen future college athletes on the field.
We walked away with a 3-2 win. The feeling was exhilarating. I remember a couple of the parents coming up to me to shake my hand proclaiming that “coaching won that game.” That would make any 19-year-old feel pretty good.
Now, before I get any further into this story there are a few things that need to be clarified. I was … let’s just say … a little unorthodox in how I went about doing things. Thirty to 40 years before you ever saw “the shift” on a Major League Baseball field, I was doing it on a little league field in Winston County, occasionally lining my team up defensively with only one fielder on the left side of second base.
I used unusual drills to keep the players engaged and pushed them to their physical limits. I wanted them to be able to think outside the box, not just play between the lines.
My attire was another story. I would do just about anything to motivate my team, but those boys, from the least talented to the all-star, gave me everything they had.
I once wore a “leisure suit” while coaching a game in the dustiest of dusty conditions and more often than not coached bare-footed. Yep, absolutely shoeless.
I’m sure I drove the 30 to 40 year old men whose sons I was coaching absolutely bonkers.
It’s one of those things that had slipped into the back of my memory. For other it obviously had not. When I walked up the aisle of he Chapel at Nowell-Massey funeral home on Saturday just before the service no less than three people, non in ear-shot of the other, stopped me and said “I’m glad to see you are wearing shoes.”
Before we won that championship game we had found ourselves in a little bit of a ditch as a team. After going undefeated the year before we had lost two games and looked to be out of the hunt for the title.
I was looking for motivation. I met with the parents and got them to agree that if we won the championship they would take the whole team to Atlanta to see the Braves play.
From that point on we were a force to be reckoned with. After winning the championship, however, we had one more game to play.
Back in those days in Louisville there weren’t travel ball teams or even all-star teams that went off and played in district and state tournaments. The regular season was the big deal.
There was however, an all-star game of sorts. The way it worked is that the champion would play all of the other teams’ best players in an all-star game. That game was normally lopsided in favor of the all-stars.
Well I set out to change that scenario. We had a guy named Michael Jordan (no, not THAT Michael Jordan) who was by far the most dominant pitcher in the league.
But even with him on the mound we were down 5-0 after two innings with no hope of coming back. That’s when an idea crossed my mind. The kids had played hard all year, they had battled back and won a gritty championship game, why not just let them all pitch to at least one batter. It would give them something to remember.
So that’s what I did. We wound up getting bombed something like 26-2, but the boys were All excited about their opportunity to pitch. After the game, we walked from our bench toward the right field fence, where the parents all sat in the bleachers. As we were walking toward them, they traditionally walked toward us to greet the boys and congratulate them on the game.
I shouldn’t have been, but I was shocked at the comments that were directed toward me by some of the parents. They were telling me I should been ashamed of myself, how terrible of a coach I was, and one even proclaimed “I had ruined the entire season for the boys.” And it just kept going, I was overwhelmed with emotion and hurt.
I looked up and here came Coach Oakley walking toward me. As I braced myself he reached out and shook my hand, patted me on the shoulder, thanked me for what I had done for the boys and congratulated me for a good season.
Despite his kind words, I still went home devastated, and told the parents there was “no way” I was going to Atlanta.
Eventually cooler heads prevailed, and I began getting phone calls from the parents asking me to reconsider, and thanking me for what I had done for their sons. I always suspected Coach Oakley may have had a little something to do with that.
Did his affirming words, pat on the back, and handshake have any lasting value? Well, it was nearly 44 years ago and I haven’t forgotten about it.
In fact, when Sean called and asked me if I would take part in his father’s memorial service, it was he first thing I thought off.
The little things are much bigger than you think and can have a lasting impact.
Here was a man, who I later found out hated to lose with a passion, who chose to focus on a person more than a scoreboard.
And for that I am eternally grateful.
Austin Bishop, AKA The Old Sports Dude, has been covering high school, college, amateur, and professional sports since 1975. He is currently pastor of Great Commission Assembly of God in Philadelphia, Miss. He may be contacted by email at starsportsboss@yahoo.com.
