James Carroll used to drive me crazy. He was athletic, fast, wiry and, man, what a silky smooth jump shot. Time and time again, I told him he needed to work harder if he wanted to be great. Time and time again, he did what teenagers do and laughed it off.
That was James’ junior year of high school and my only year coaching basketball. I realized quickly that I didn’t have the patience, especially with parents, and likely would have a heart attack by 35 if I stayed in the profession. I also was frustrated that a kid with such great potential didn’t spend every second working on his game.
As a coach, you often wonder what impact you’re having on kids. That’s the reason you should go into coaching. Wins are great, but at the high school level, there’s nothing more important than making a difference.
More often than not through the years, it didn’t feel like I had much of an impact at all on the kids I worked with. We only had about 20 out for basketball at Burlingame, and I spent most of my time coaching the junior varsity. Most of my interactions with the varsity, including James, came on bus rides to places like Lyndon, Mission Valley and Frontenac, Kansas.
During those treks across the eastern quarter of the state, I’d often tell the kids that I could open the gym for them at any time to play pickup games and hone their skills. “If you guys are serious about winning, you’ll get your asses in the gym outside of practice,” I’d say.
We had a decent team. Most of the games were close. We took a ranked Marais Des Cygnes Valley squad to the wire in Melvern. We lost at Olpe on a 15-footer at the buzzer. We even beat a ranked Williamsburg team on the road. James was a mainstay, the starting shooting guard. If he was on, we had a good chance of winning. If he wasn’t, we typically lost.
He also liked to needle the coaching staff, especially Coach Webb. It was a give and take of me telling him he could be better and him telling me he could beat me one-on-one and would prove it any time I wanted to get on the court. I didn’t, of course, because I knew he’d destroy me.
“Well, I’d ask you to come in and work out with me, but I know what your workout is,” I responded. “You’ll be doing those 12-ounce curls.”
Coaches are prone to saying things like that. Little did I know he’d remember it years later. I hadn’t heard from James for a long time, then Facebook came along. We reconnected, and one of the first things he messaged me is something I’ll always remember.
To paraphrase, James said, “Coach Webb, I just wanted to let you know that you were right about working on my game. I wished I would have listened more and done those 12-ounce curls less.”
And you wonder if you make a difference … it’s the only time in my life I ever actually felt like a coach. From that point on, James and I chatted here and there on Facebook. He loved his alma mater and asked about our chances in the football playoffs or state basketball tournament when Burlingame came out of a long slumber. We exchanged barbs about Missouri and Kansas and celebrated the Royals and Chiefs.
James also was one of the first people on social media who reached out to me after my father died in 2019: “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. Hang in there, bro.”
James passed away yesterday at age 40, leaving behind two children, his parents and a sister, among many family members. He also had an army of friends who will miss him dearly, including me. I’m always going to remember James as the talented kid who became a respectful, kind man. And I’ll always remember him as the one kid who called me “Coach Webb” all these years later.
Rest in peace, James.