A coach married to March Madness
To the Editor:
I live in a sweat box with 15 kids from a different mother. I pushed seats that groaned, when molested; turn out more lights than Dollywood in December; locked more doors than newlyweds.
Dust mopped a ballroom floor to shrink sinus cases; screamed like a Hitchcock actress; spit tobacco juice in a foam cup in disgust; whistled at boys and girls; drank more water than a cow with four tanks; cut down more rim skirts to decorate glass houses; used a ton of armpit bars to keep friends; and slept by accident.
I sang the National Anthem in reverse; married a profession; swallowed food like a street stray; missed more birthdays and anniversaries than a Mormon; took vacations in a hospital bed; and like those who marry a profession, I came home to an empty house.
So, what did I do for a living? I coached basketball.
Given a choice, would I deep-dive again? Does a worm crawl? Does a truck have a bed? Do seniors fall? Did Shakespeare fail English (who’s perfect?)
G. Tip Estep
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