Don't Put Me In, Coach by Mark Titus Read Free Book Online

going to the Ohio State football game at Northwestern on that Saturday. Instead, I called my dad after I hung up with the assistant coach and told him that I wouldn’t be able to go to the game or even make it home for the weekend because something had come up.
    Being the parent of a kid he had just sent to college, he obviously assumed that “something has come up” meant that I either got arrested or got someone pregnant, or the opportunity had arisen to do things that could lead to getting arrested or gettingsomeone pregnant. Since the public perception seems to be that playing college basketball is synonymous with being in trouble with the law and/or fathering handfuls of kids, I guess he wasn’t entirely wrong, but I still felt like I needed to assure him that I wasn’t in any kind of trouble. When I told him that the assistant coach had asked me to walk-on (even though I had quit my job as manager two weeks earlier), he let out a relieved sigh and told me how happy he was for me. I can’t say for sure, but I imagine my dad’s turn of emotions was the exact opposite of what Laurence Fishburne felt when his daughter called to tell him that she had landed her dream job and then went on to explain that her dream job involved a bunch of random men putting their wieners in her cinnamon ring.
    Shortly before practice started on Thursday, Coach Matta approached me in the practice gym and congratulated me before saying, “I hope you stayed in shape over the summer or you’re going to be hurting the next few weeks.” I assured him that I had been working out rigorously for the past few months and was in great shape, which was a claim that ranks right up there with “It’s not you, it’s me” and “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” on the list of the most blatant lies ever told. I’m pretty sure he could tell that I was lying (probably because I was 15 pounds overweight and had either barbecue sauce or Cheetos powder on every article of clothing I owned), but he nonetheless said okay and then started to walk away. After a few steps, though, he turned around and said, “I forgot to mention. Now that you’re on the team, I’m going to have to ask you to shave your beard. It’s nothing personal. Just a team rule.”
    As I told him that it wasn’t a big deal because I actually planned on shaving it anyway and just hadn’t gotten around to it yet, Greg walked by sporting a ferocious beard that made my beard look like Sidney Crosby’s wispy excuse for facial hair. When I pointed to Greg with a confused look on my face, Coach Matta laughed and said, “Well, he’s Greg Oden. You understand, right?” I shook my head in amazement at the blatant favoritism, laughed, walked tothe court, started stretching for practice, and proceeded to ralph for the next two hours because I was so out of shape.
    The next day was our first game of the season against VMI, and while Greg couldn’t play because he was recovering from wrist surgery (he sat out our first seven games), Ohio State fans were obviously less concerned with Greg’s wrist and more concerned with whether or not I’d be suiting up. That’s because it was rumored throughout the day that there was a chance I couldn’t play in the game since our equipment guy wasn’t completely sure he’d get my jersey shipped from Nike in time, even though he had it express-delivered. Seriously.
    I was all sorts of nervous, not only because I wanted to dress for the game but also because I knew it would be a huge letdown for my family to see me on the bench in street clothes after driving three hours to Columbus, not to mention driving themselves into a frenzy for the previous 48 hours over the thought of me playing college basketball for a Big Ten team. But in the end there was nothing to worry about because our equipment guy got the jersey from UPS in the early afternoon and finished stitching my name and number onto it with a few hours to spare (which I’m