By Brad Locke
March 4, 2005

(AgapePress) - Coaches are wise. Coaches are self-assured. Coaches are enthusiastic. Coaches are tough. Coaches are caring. Coaches are honest. Coaches are fair. Coaches are gracious. Coaches are respected.

Not anymore.

Coaches are foolish (Mike Price). Coaches are paranoid (Larry Brown). Coaches are weary (Jeff Van Gundy). Coaches are affable (Maurice Cheeks). Coaches are thoughtless (John Chaney). Coaches are dishonest (George O'Leary). Coaches are unreasonable (Tom Coughlin). Coaches are petulant (Lloyd McClendon). Coaches are unappreciated (Byron Scott).

None of this is to say that these men aren't good coaches or good people, nor should they be pigeonholed by these characteristics. They are merely tangible examples of what largely defines the coaching profession these days. Coaching is a job saddled with increasing demands but decreasing gratitude. This imbalance has driven many a fine man to desperate measures, which in turn has stripped him of his dignity and uprightness in the eyes of players, owners, athletics directors, fans and the media. Some of this behavior -- Price's cavorting, O'Leary's résumé fudging -- are examples of gross irresponsibility, but the pressure put upon coaches today almost surely played some role in those events.

There are still plenty of model coaches around, guys who have established their identities and command respect from everyone -- guys like Mike Krzyzewski, Bill Belichick and Joe Torre. Those types of coaches are harder to find, though.

Cheeks was fired for being too friendly with his players (and for losing, of course). Chaney ought to be fired for ruining a player's college career (it was just the latest example of his cowardly behavior). Brown, perhaps more restless than paranoid, is careful about never wearing out his welcome, which is why many doubt his verbalized commitment to finish his career in Detroit. In many senses, coaches have clothed themselves in the kind of attitude so prevalent among athletes. They have become, in many cases, impatient, results-driven transients. They've acquiesced to their overpaid, foolish players so many times that they've come to resemble them.

I had several coaches growing up, and while none were perfect, each embodied certain qualities that made me a better person and athlete, qualities like those I mentioned above. Coach Weeks, for whom I played football and baseball as a prepubescent, was as gritty and hard-nosed as they come. But he never took his players for granted, as he demonstrated after I had a driven in what proved to be the game-winning runs as a pinch hitter. Coach Weeks walked up to me all serious-like, then bear-hugged me.

Another baseball coach, Coach Haney, was a polar opposite of Coach Weeks -- pleasant, never loud. But you could tell he cared for the players, and he commanded respect because of his quiet persistence and fairness.

Coach Newcombe was sort of a mix between the two. He was my freshman basketball coach at Ruston (La.) High School. The two things he would not tolerate were poor fundamentals and a poor attitude. During one game at West Monroe, our starters were playing badly and acting worse, mouthing off at the official (who just happened to be a preacher). In the small locker room at halftime, Coach Newcombe broke his clipboard in half and had our point guard in tears just from the look on his face.

I don't recall what Coach Newcombe said, but it worked. We came back and lost by only two points. And the ones who pouted eventually left the team, leaving us with only six players (I, of course, was the guy holding down the bench).

I don't know where any of these coaches are now, but their legacy has accompanied me throughout life. They're the kind of coaches you used to find at all levels. They're the kind of coaches from whom John Chaney and Mike Price could learn something.