Dear Coach -- Forgotten Play

Dear Coach,

I’m sorry.  

It’s my fault we lost the game.

I keep seeing the play over and over in my head. I see the ball rolling around the rim and then bouncing off to the side. I see my teammates’ faces when I let everybody down.  I hear you trying to keep the anger out of your voice.  I’ll totally understand if you don’t want me on the team next year.

But here’s the thing. I didn’t ignore you on purpose.  I wasn’t trying to be the star.  The showboat.

I listened.  I watched you draw the play on the board.  I really did.  I even pushed my way to the front so I could look right at you. 

I was ready to roll.  And then I forgot. 

You see, things don’t always stick in my brain very well – at least not the right things. 

When I’m in the gym with the lights and the cheering and the other team and the scoreboard and the popcorn smell and the little kids running around and my water bottle rolling away and so, so many things, it’s like I’m watching 20 movies all at once. 

It’s called ADHD, or Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, which is weird because what really happens is my brain pays attention to EVERYTHING.   

So when you’re talking, I’m also hearing 100 other things at the same time.  And I have a really, really hard time blocking out the rest of the stuff.  With all that noise in my brain, the things that I want to remember seem to fall right out.   And I know that looks like I’m being a jerk.

Like the play – inbound from John, find Ben under the basket and fire it to him for a quick layup.  We win by one. 

I heard it.  I got it.  And then for a moment — the most important moment — I lost it. 

John threw it in.  I was standing there with the ball.  And I had no clue what you had said.  The clock was down to 4, so I shook my defender and took the long three. We both know how that went.

Stupid, I know.  I feel stupid about 1,000 times a day.  But it doesn’t usually feel as bad as this.  Letting down my team.  Letting you down.

I know it’s on me.  I’m the one with the brain that’s everywhere, that won’t keep still and sometimes can’t keep up.

But this everywhere brain can be a really good thing too.  When I’m on the court I can take in everything at once, see where the defender is about to go, find the open space, target my teammate with a quick pass.

The chaos never rattles me – in fact it calms me down. That’s how I live every minute. 

I’ve also got tons of energy.  And my mind can focus way better after I’ve been running or swimming or playing a hard game of 1-1.  You always say I’m the guy with legs in the second half.

Still, like I said, if you want me off the team I get it.

But if you take a chance on me, I know I can do better.  I’ve learned a few things (the hard way) about what can help. 

The action part is really huge. At practice, if I warm up before you talk to us about the drills I’ve got a much better chance of remembering what you say.  And any time I start to fidget, give me something I’m allowed to do that involves motion. That’s actually how I listen best. When my body is still, my brain makes up for it by looking for more action. 

Maybe I could stand up and get the cones out while you talk.  Or I could toss a ball in the air or doodle with a pen.  Sounds crazy, but all three would help me focus on what you’re saying. 

Having me demonstrate drills would be the best.  I’d be moving and the drill would be printed on my brain from doing, not just listening.  That’s how I learn and how things stick.

Oh, and my listening times out pretty fast.  So if there’s something that you really want me to know, put it up front.  A few simple words works best. When you talk too long I get really hot and sweaty, and that gets my brain looking for an out. 

For that big play, look me in the eye and tell me just what I have to do. No motivational speech, no extra words. Just, “Pass it to Ben.” Then ask me to repeat it.  Better yet have me act it out.  Then it’ll stick.

I’m not asking any favors. I’m willing to work hard. I know it might not seem like it when my brain won’t do what I want it to. But I want to be able to listen. I want to be able to do what you say. I want to be the best teammate. 

And I know I can.