HIGH SCHOOL HOOPS: Son, like father, talk points on the bench

By Justin Hayes
Published in Sports on February 3, 2017 9:59 AM

• Print
• Email

Pops is a coaching lifer, sturdy as a Bible verse and cut from the same impeccable cloth Tom Hanks used to portray E Block guard Paul Edgecomb in "The Green Mile."

He's in it for the kids.

The son is a lefty textbook jumper who came by the profession honestly, whose varsity blues became a degree and whose humility is New Hope's new hope.

He's just like his old man.

At a recent Eastern Wayne varsity girls' basketball practice -- a fundamental, two hour run-through that would make Morgan Wooten blush -- they routinely communicate in a way that fathers and sons do when all they've ever wanted to do is work to make the other proud.

A head nod here.

A wink there.

A "let's run that again because it wasn't quite up-to-snuff" clap of the hands.

But make no mistake. Michael Gurganus and his father, Marty, talk plenty.

*

Pops talks about perfect things.

Perfect things like preseason aspirations, when a team's record is without a blemish and when every sprint is timed in perfect health.

But life isn't that way, so Pops talks about the contrary.

He owes that to them.

"If you're a winner, it should bother you," he says of a recent close loss to J.H. Rose, "what did you do to get ready?"

A labored pause fills the gym.

"Ladies... it's the little things we don't do that have the greatest impact on our lives," he says.

*

The son talks in plain language, and it's clear -- the warm-up is over.

Welcome to the price to pay for being mutally-ready-to-succeed.

"We're going full," he says.

Junior backpedals to the scorer's table, whistle on the ready, and nods for the start of a searing three-on-two, two-on-one footrace that carries with it one simple expectation.

"If we don't talk, we run," he exclaims.

And just like that, the Lady Warriors are off, calling out responsibilities and playing through whistles and making their two coaches beam unapologetically.

The son claps his young ladies up, as he is often wont to do, and it's easy to see -- he is pleased by this segment of their session.

Sometimes, it seems, a look says it all.

*

Sophomore standout Nyesha Best is a lot of things.

A classically trained point guard.

A mark-up shooter.

A mirror-imaged twin to her sister, Myesha.

And on this day, not selfish enough to survive being whistled by Pops, who spots a flaw in her direction of a half court set.

But it's not what you think.

"Hey, look at me, "he says, encouraging her around a ball screen.

"Get a little selfish here... If you get too selfish, we'll let you know."

And like the player she is, the rehashment results in ripped cord.

*

The clockwork open run is over, and the Lady Warriors stand in the jump circle at mid-court.

A few catch their breath. A few fan their faces. All of them are eyeing their coaches.

All-in.

They talk about the now, and how to atrfully respond when a guard from J.H. Rose hangs a number on you.

It happens, but don't make it a habit.

"Losing is not acceptable," Pops says, "and when you love somebody, you hold them accountable... (we want) you to be a part of a group that leaves a mark and builds a culture... that makes each other better."

It's "Hoosiers" meets a dream deferred, yet not over.

The son gathers their team -- everybody in, hands up, Lady Warriors on three.

And that's when the notion about their work becomes clear.

Over two-plus hours, and not a single raised voice. Not one bit of the manic, lunatic ravings that have become commonplace amongst far too many coaches in far too many places.

These two guys just talk.