When I Told Dylan I Wanted to Kick Coach's Ass He Warned Me, "Dad, he's jacked. Don't fight him!"

Previously, Part 10: After Resigning as Assistant Baseball Coach, It Was Time to Turn the Page...

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I returned to the plumbing shop from the Principal's office all smiles. I still had my job, and I had gotten a lot off my chest. We agreed that anything him and I discussed during our meeting would stay between us. I don't think he wanted to poke the bear, in this case, a volatile football coach with two Super Bowl wins under his belt.

When you're a teacher and a coach, your students identify with you differently than when you're just a teacher. The day after games, my students would always ask me how we did. After I resigned, I no longer had that connection. It felt different. Fortunately, there were only a couple weeks of school left before summer break, and I could hardly wait.

Occasionally, I'd bump into Coach in my travels, and he'd immediately get into an aggressive posture, curl his lower lip, and snarl at me. I called it the "Mussolini Glare". I'd tell Dylan about it and how much it made me want to kick Coach's ass, and he'd say, "Dad, he's jacked. Don't fight him!" He was worried about me. 

I may not have been jacked like Coach, but I was work-strong back then, and I wouldn't have backed down from Coach. In fact, I believe I would've kicked his ass and enjoyed doing it.

Years later, I was working at a different Voke school, and I ate lunch in the Graphic Design shop every day with a small group of teachers. One of the Graphic Design teachers was a guy named Brenden. He was jacked and openly gay, which was never a problem for me. I enjoyed having lunch with him and the three other teachers in the group. The conversation was always gossipy. You knew when Brenden got up mid-lunch and closed the door to his shop that he had something juicy to reveal. Teachers love gossip.

One day I was talking about my two co-teachers, and I looked over at Brenden and said, "The two of us will have to go over there one afternoon and kick their asses!" That's when he put his two chiseled biceps in front of him, gently kissed each one, and admitted unpretensiously, "These are pretty muscles, Vinnie. They're not tough muscles…" It was hysterical and sooo Brenden.

I wasn't the least bit intimidated by Coach.

I wanted to go watch the team play at home, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Like everybody else, I'd have to wait and find out if they won the following day.

They won one of the next three games, leaving them with two remaining and one to win in order to make the tournament.

They lost the next one, making their final game a must-win…

To be continued…

I kept reminding myself, "Those who hate you don't win unless you hate them," but I'm a fucking warrior! Fuck that! Bring it on, Coach!