Here's to the men and women who help athletes grow

By Pete Estabrooks
Illustration by Lorne McLean

It’s a Saturday afternoon and I have a big glass of wine in my hand, a goofy grin on my face and 15 years of wham-bam, punching pillar-to-post memories dancing across a sweet and foggy horizon.

I’ve just come from a funeral where I  sat with a legion of men, my brothers in arms with whom I rarely speak today. In common reverence, we stopped to reflect and relish what we were for a glorious moment in time. A time when our dreams were one fight away from reality and our lives one workout away from success. We sat to honour one of our coaches, one of the men who not only loved a sport, but also lived a sport; a man like his peers who made not money, but memories, and not wealth, but a wonder in what we could all do with our own hands.

Boxing was my introduction to sport, sport was my introduction to fitness and fitness was my introduction to health. The transition is linear, but the road was winding, and it formed the man I am today. The funeral reminded me that boxing in Calgary, like in many towns and cities, was never a big-money sport, and that made it a sport of inclusion. A boxer was a boxer was a boxer. At tournaments out of town, it didn’t matter where you trained, you fought for whichever coach or whatever club helped you make that trip. Like every boxer of that era, there were a host of coaches whose advice I heeded.

That courtesy was extended not just among us, but also through the boxing community at large. I fought more than once miles away from home when the man stepping in to coach was a stranger to me, but as each one stepped up, I knew he had my back for the day. Coach would diligently wrap my hands, often with a cigarette dangling from his lips, exonerating me to “fake a jab, drop your chin and fire a right hand” — advice that sometimes worked, sometimes didn’t.

Winning or losing did not define the result, effort did. All you had to do was stand in, try your best. If you did that you were worthy of commendation, acceptance and respect. The coach’s intent was universal — don’t judge this book by its cover. I was motivated by my coaches, learning never to fear charting a course dedicated to a commitment of body, soul and spirit. Most importantly, my coaches’ gifts to me were the same.

Preparation is everything. In sport we can either go somewhere by working physically hard, or we can go nowhere by working hardly physical.

This story is not just mine, not merely a remembrance of the guys who motivated me and stood tall in my corner; it’s an ode to coaches, those who poked and prodded us, the ones who got us up when we were down and inspired us to carry on. Any of us who play sport are lucky enough to meet men and women who give their time to a sport simply for the reward of its participants. Not all athletes are champions. It’s a rare number, but a good coach always sees a bigger picture for his ward’s life.

A coach reminds us that where you place and how much money you make is not the true measure of a person; that real competition is not comparing me to you, or you to me; it’s not winning or losing, but having the fortitude to compete that stands the test of time. In the words of big Kenny Billinghurst: “Try hard, work harder and find enjoyment in effort.”

It’s worked for me. Cheers, coach.

January/February 2012