From Assistant Video Guy To Basketball Coach

I grew up loving sports and passed that adoration of athletics on to my son, Ryan.

While working as a television reporter at Michigan Technological University, one of my tasks was to cover and promote the University’s athletic programs. Football, men’s basketball, women’s hoops, volleyball, and the hockey Huskies all saw or heard from me during my ten years working in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

One nice advantage of being involved with the sports teams was the ability to bring six-year old Ryan with me to the different events.

For example, one bright fall Saturday, I loaded up my video gear and the ragamuffin and headed up to Sherman Field, home of the football Huskies. Once we got there, I told Ryan to hang with me on the sideline and not to venture away by himself.

“Ryan, buddy?”

“Yea, Dad?”

“You’ve gotta stay with me, okay? I have to know where you are and to do that, I need to see you, okay?”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Hey, you want to help me by carrying a spare battery?”

“Sure!”

I handed the squirt the camera battery, loaded up the camera with tape, and headed off.

The game began. MTU kicked off and the crowd roared; so began another afternoon of beautiful fall football in the Copper Country.

As the teams punted back and forth in the first quarter, I was busy running up and down the sideline videotaping the game. I preferred to shoot the action from the sideline as opposed to the top of the press box because I wanted the viewer to be close to the action.

The clock ran out on quarter number one. Not only was Ryan enjoying himself hanging out with the football players, but he was also behaving.

At halftime, I took my little helper up the stairs to the press box and introduced him to Tech’s Assistant Sports Information Director, Joe Gorby.

“Hey, Joe. I’d like you to meet my video assistant, my son Ryan.”

“Hi, Ryan. I’m Joe. Nice to meet you.”

” Hi, Joe. I’m Ryan. Nice to meet you, too.”

No sooner had the two lads shaken hands, than Ryan and I lowered our faces into slices of pizza, quickly followed by the slurping of our pop.

The second half started, and the intensity on the field picked up. The boredom of my short video assistant picked up too, or should I say kicked up?

While running down the team bench, in and among the group of sweaty college students, a scary thought crossed my mind. Where’s Ryan? I hadn’t noticed him in a few possessions because of the frenetic action on the field, and now I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I had seen my battery carrier.

“Ryan?” I whispered. Whispered? Well, ya. I didn’t want to let everyone at Sherman Field know that I had lost my kid.

“Ryan, hey, buddy?” This time I was a little louder, with more emphasis on his name.

Nothing.

“Thump”. Pause. ” Thump.”

I walked toward the fence that separated the field from the stands; there I found my bored video assistant. I also noticed the players watching and laughing. It seems Ryan had found an old football and the practice net and was practicing his field goal kicking ability!

“Ryan. You can’t do that. It’s not your football. And if you miss and it goes on the field, I’ll get in trouble.”

The players standing nearby, who should’ve stepped in and taken the ball away, were laughing instead.

Immediately following the last home game of the season, I prepared a highlight video for the football team’s banquet. Ryan was with me as I gave the tape to Coach Anderson in his office. Coach Anderson said, “thanks for all of your work this season. Here, since you helped your dad, would you like one of our mini helmets?” Coach held the mini replica Rydell MTU helmet out to Ryan who said, “Thanks!”

Another sport I took Ryan to was hockey. I had my normal video position located at the top of the rink. The hockey bag I had to lug was heavy; it was filled with an AC adapter, extension cord, microphone cable, extra tapes, a towel, and other odds and ends. What I needed was an assistant. Hmmmmm. Ryan, now ten years old, offered his services.

“Dad, can I go with you to the hockey games? I’d help carry your gear!”

Excellent.

With his name on the pass list, Ryan strode to the top of the rink hauling my heavy hockey bag filled with video gear. We made our way across to the other side. Our goal was the press box, pop, and pre-game pizza.

Ryan swung his arms, front to back, as if he owned the joint.

“Hey, Ryan” offered the 6’6” defenseman Andy Sutton.

“Hi, Andy” waved the young video assistant, whose voice sounded eerily similar to Barney Fife’s of Mayberry fame.

“Whatcha doing?” asked the future NHL player.

“Oh, just helping my dad” replied the ten-year old, going on twenty.

Andy looked at me as he was taping his hockey stick; the grin on his face was as wide as the net.

We reached the newly remodeled press box with brand new countertops, picked up our pop and pizza, and then sat down at the front overlooking the ice.

“Hey, Ryan. See that guy down there in the black sport coat? He’s a scout with the San Jose Sharks of the NHL.”

“He, is?” asked the short video assistant who scooted up in his chair to look over the ledge of the press box. In stretching for a better view, Ryan bumped his full cup of pop, promptly dumping it all over the brand new countertop.

“Oh, no!” wailed my assistant.

“Oh, no” mumbled the video guy responsible for Mini Media Me being in the press box.

Local media members chuckled watching Ryan and I dashing back and forth with wet paper towels.

Alas, the young video assistant and I recovered from the spill, and the embarrassment didn’t slow Ryan down one bit.

That whole season with Ryan by my side, we shot video and hauled hockey gear at all the home games; before we knew it, the season was over.

Years passed, Ryan grew up, and although our schedules pulled us apart, a love for sports would still be our connection.

Eventually we moved to the East Lansing, Michigan, area and began rooting for and watching the Michigan State Spartans. Year after year, we spent numerous hours sitting in the living room filling out brackets for March Madness.

“How many brackets you filling out?” asked Ryan.

“Which ones? The ‘Who I think’ or the ‘Who I want’? asked the old man.

We giggled as we marked and scratched out hoops teams we couldn’t stand. Wisconsin? I don’t think so. See ya, Michigan. Pretty much every year, our brackets were blown by the time we got to the Final Four; but that didn’t ruin our fun. Every year Ryan would turn in his food order to Chef Mom-ardee, and we would scarf down an assortment of mini entrées.

One year, with MSU in the Final Four in Detroit, we took Ryan to Ford Field to watch all four teams practice. It was his 18^th birthday, and it was awesome. Sitting across from the teenager, I listened as he explained what a certain team was doing wrong, or what a specific player needed to do in order to be more effective. We also talked about how the tournament games are more about match ups than skill level, especially as the field of sixty-four gets whittled down. My thought was that this kid of mine would make a great coach someday.

Fast forward to this year, 2015. Sparty is in yet another Final Four, this time in Indianapolis. I am pumped to watch the semi-final between Duke and Michigan State. Ryan is pumped as well, and we both hope Sparty can pull off the upset.

Even though we’re both watching the game, our seats and views are not together this time. I’m at home, eating mini entrees. Across from me is an empty chair. It’s the chair that Ryan normally occupies.

While I’m at home, Ryan is in Indy at the game—hanging out with other college basketball coaches for the Final Four. Ryan has grown up. He spent this past season as a men’s varsity basketball graduate assistant and men’s jv basketball head coach for a local college.

Even though Ryan’s chair is empty, I’m thrilled with the memories, laughs, and giggles we shared. And who knows, maybe one day I will be filling out a bracket and watching him coach in his own Final Four.