"Hey Coach!"

Good Monday Morning, all bodies.

Yeh, it's a Monday again...

When returned to Southern California, after being away for about five or six years, my wife and I visited a local restaurant that at one time was owned by Dodger manager, Tommy LaSorda.

Of course, it was an Italian restaurant. But, while eating there, a former Little League team mate who was with his family dining, saw me and called from across the room,  "Hey Coach!"

I always loved that.

I remember a coach as a young ballplayer who directly and indirectly taught me a thing or two.

With "ducks on the pond" and probably nobody out it was a definite bunting situation, but I struck out swinging. The next time at bat, I was given a signal, but never got it. After a swing and a miss, the coach called me over to third base for a conference.

"You see this bat?" he said pointing to the bat with his right arm around me.

"The next time you miss a signal, I'm gonna wrap that bat around your head... Okay?"

"Uh, okay, coach!"

This was my coach almost all through my little league days. I read online that he just recently passed away. This scenario was the first thing that entered my mind. I shook my head and chuckled. As a coach in South Pasadena for over 12 years, I remember vowing to never motivate a player in such a way.

I also remember that same coach escorted me to the St. Claude Hospital when I snapped the ulna and radius in half on my glove hand just before a game. I don't recall being too upset as a twelve year old though I didn't look at my forearm much. The coach could never have been so attentive. He stayed with me long after my mom arrived and the arm was reset and put in a cast.

I only remember hoping to get home in time to watch the first episode of Combat! on TV.

Coach always gathered the team together before each game, and sometimes, before each practice, to pray for a good game, sportsmanship, and give thanks to the Lord for our parents and teachers. Maybe, he started a prayer at practice after my accident... I wouldn't be surprised.

Many years later visiting home, we attended Mass at St. Raphael, in Gentilly and was surprised to see and hear the man read the sermons. His voice was very 9th Ward as he had a tendency to speak through the side of his mouth.

"Therese, remember that guy I told you about that coached me all those years at Bunnyfriend Playground?"

"Yes, what about it," she asked.

"That's him on the podium. I haven't seen him in twenty years or more," I said. 

"I gotta see him after Mass, okay?"

 Immediately after the blessing, I dragged our son and my wife to the parking lot to intercept him and capture a moment from my past.

Walking away from a few Mass celebrants, and as he headed for his car, I yelled, "Hey Coach! Remember me?"

Gotta be a special place in heaven for coaches like Firmin Simms!

https://www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/new-orleans-la/firmin-simms-9178646

Copyright 2020/ Ben Bensen III