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Coach Elton? Not Anytime Soon

Last night, for something that felt like the millionth time, I again got asked about the coaching thing by one of my friends.

“You’re already a damn rat at the rink,” said (name changed) Wilfred Olemada Rodriguiez. “You practically own two goalies. You know you wanna, so why don’t you?”

ME: “Shaddup.”

WOR: “You’ve been offered a couple of assist jobs.”

ME: “Non-paying. All pain, no gain.”

WOR: “Kids like you.”

ME: “They like hearing me tell their father’s to shut the fuck up and stop reading Freddie Shero’s book.”

WOR: “You could kick ass, win a tourney or two. There has to be some good revenge right damn there, considering you were a douchebag New Dorp loser.”

ME: “Remind me why I don’t let the dogs chew on you.”

WOR: “You telling me it’s all about you being afraid of the parents? BULLSHIT. You’d shoot the first Daddy who seriously fucked with you.”

ME: “No, you dumb spic, I COULDN’T shoot the first Pop who popped off. That’s the whole bloody point. If I play Coach that means “I Am God.” Not your mother; not your father, ME. You do what I say or you die. These friggin helicopter parents would never allow it. First time I slap one of their friggin’ babies, I go to jail or face a throwdown in a parking lot. If I cursed the bastards out in the locker room it would be considered a hate crime. Which means I can’t goddamn win. If I can’t win, why fucking play? My first order of business would be changing the little bastards into an angry little street gang. Second on the list is picking a fight, off-ice… preferrably their school’s football team. I find out whether or not I got a team right there and then. And there is no parent’s association alive that will let me get away with that kind of crap.”

WOR: “Christ, you’re an asshole.”

ME: “Wanna know the secret to being an acceptable goalie? Fear and rage. You spend half the game bored out of your brain while everyone’s down the other end of the ice. The rest of the time your scared shitless and you wanna kill something.”

WOR: “You’re right. I’d never let you near my kid.”

ME: “You’re fucked, putz, he already calls me “Uncle.”

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