Battle Cry

This is the battlefield speech given by Lt. Col. Tim Collins, a commander of the Royal Irish battle group. He gave this speech just hours before his troops went into battle at the start of Desert Storm;

Uncle Tom's Cabin

My favorite quote by Tom Waits is,
"I'd rather have a bottle in front of me, than a frontal lobotomy."

My favorite song by Tom Waits is "Tom Traubert's Blues" enjoy!

General Patton

This is the GP version of General Pattons speech to the Third Army in preparation for their push through Europe. Talk about a system man, I can hear him yelling faster, faster, faster!

Patton's speech to the Third Army


Somewhere in England, June 5th, 1944.

"Be seated." Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about America wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of x@#$%%. Americans love to fight, traditionally. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle.

You are here today for three reasons. First, because you are here to defend your homes and your loved ones. Second, you are here for your own self respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else. Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to fight. When you, here, every one of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ball players, and the All-American football players. Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards. Americans play to win all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost nor will ever lose a war; for the very idea of losing is hateful to an American.

You are not all going to die. Only two percent of you right here today would die in a major battle. Death must not be feared. Death, in time, comes to all men. Yes, every man is scared in his first battle. If he says he's not, he's a liar. Some men are cowards but they fight the same as the brave men or they get the hell slammed out of them watching men fight who are just as scared as they are. The real hero is the man who fights even though he is scared. Some men get over their fright in a minute under fire. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. But a real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood. Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. Americans pride themselves on being He Men and they ARE He Men.

Remember that the enemy is just as frightened as you are, and probably more so. They are not supermen. All through your Army careers, you men have complained about what you call "chicken crap drilling." That, like everything else in this Army, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness. Alertness must be bred into every soldier. I don't care for a man who's not always on his toes.

You men are veterans or you wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. A man must be alert at all times if he expects to stay alive. If you're not alert, sometime, a German is going to sneak up behind you and beat you to death with a sock full of rocks! There are four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in Sicily, all because one man went to sleep on the job. But they are German graves, because we caught them asleep before they did us.

An Army is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team. This individual heroic stuff is pure horse hockey. The bilious guys who write that kind of stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don't know any more about real fighting under fire than they know about sewing! We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity those poor people we're going up against. By God, I do. My men don't surrender, and I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unless he has been hit. Even if you are hit, you can still fight back. That's not just words either. The kind of man that I want in my command is just like the lieutenant in Libya, who, with a Luger against his chest, jerked off his helmet, swept the gun aside with one hand, and busted the Kraut with his helmet. Then he jumped on the gun and went out and killed another German before they knew what was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung. There was a real man!

All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters, either. Every single man in this Army plays a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain. What if every truck driver suddenly decided that he didn't like the whine of those shells overhead, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a ditch? The cowardly guy could say, 'Heck, they won't miss me, just one man in thousands.' But, what if every man thought that way? Where in the world would we be now? What would our country, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like? No, Americans don't think like that. Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war. The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The Quartermaster is needed to bring up food and clothes because where we are going there isn't a lot to steal. Every last man on K.P. has a job to do, even the one who heats our water to keep us from getting the 'G.I. runs'.

Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy fighting beside him. We don't want yellow cowards in this army. They should be killed off like rats. If not, they will go home after this war and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Kill off the cowards and we will have a nation of brave men. One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow on top of a telegraph pole in the midst of a furious fire fight in Tunisia. I stopped and asked what he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, 'Fixing the wire, Sir.' I asked, 'Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?' He answered, 'Yes Sir, but the wire has to be fixed.' I asked, 'Don't those planes strafing the road bother you?' And he answered, 'No, Sir, but you sure do!'

Now, there was a real man, a real soldier. There was a man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty might appear at the time, no matter how great the odds. And you should have seen those trucks on the road to Tunisia. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled over those roads, never stopping, never faltering from their course, with shells bursting all around them all of the time. We got through on good old American guts.

Many of those men drove for over forty consecutive hours. These men weren't combat men, but they were soldiers with a job to do. They did it, they were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the fight would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable.

Don't forget, you men don't know that I'm here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what happened to me. I'm not supposed to be commanding this Army. I'm not even supposed to be here in England. Let the first people to find out be the Germans. Someday I want to see them raise up on their hind legs and howl, “it's the Third Army again and that Patton.' We want to get over there." The quicker we clean up this mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the Japanese and clean out their nest, too, before the Marines get all of the credit.

Sure, we want to go home. We want this war over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the people who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. And when we get to Berlin, I am personally going to shoot that paper hanging Hitler. Just like I'd shoot a snake!

When a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a German will get to him eventually. The heck with that idea. The heck with taking it. My men don't dig foxholes. I don't want them to. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. Keep moving. And don't give the enemy time to dig one either. We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and by showing the Germans that we've got more guts than they have; or ever will have. We're not going to just shoot them were going to rip out their living guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks.

War is a bloody, killing business. You've got to spill their blood, or they will spill yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot them in the guts. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it's the blood and guts of what once was your best friend beside you, you'll know what to do! I don't want to get any messages saying, 'I am holding my position.' We are not holding a thing. Let the Germans do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose.

From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our people too hard. I don't care about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Germans we will kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that.

There is one great thing that you men will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great World War II, you WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, 'Well, your Granddaddy shoveled manure in Louisiana.' No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, 'Son, your Granddaddy rode with the Great Third Army and a man named Georgie Patton!' "That is all."

A Platoon of Captains

Although I am not contractually bound to coach anywhere, I have a number of coaching friends that feed my present addiction. Virgil Hovden allowed me to help him with 8th grade girls at Dunkerton before Christmas. I had a great time with that group of players, we went 5- and - 5, they doubled their scoring average from their seventh grade year, and they came with a passion each practice and game day. Maybe the thing that made it so enjoyable though was working with Coach Hovden, as Virgil tells everyone we have been breaking into gyms since our days when we both grew up in Cresco.

Bruce Bailey has allowed me to live vicariously through his team in Gladbrook-Reinbeck this year as well. I have known Bruce since his daughter Emily went with us on a basketball trip to Russia. Bruce is one of the true gentleman of high school basketball. Every time I am in Reinbeck it seems like Bruce is feeding me or taking me fishing. He is surrounded by very competitive young women, that are also truly good people. His assistants may be the best staff in Iowa. Evan Schulte is his JV coach. He is a good young teacher who brings enthusiasm and passion to the team as well as the ability to take a ribbing from three of basketballs elder statesmen. Tom Boheman is a volunteer assistant to Bruce, although Tom was a fine head coach in his own right. He runs the conference all star game along with Mike Bengen. They have given hundreds of young men and women the chance to show case their talents in the NICL conference all star game for as long as I can remember. His third assistant is Mike Bengen, he has coached for years as well and volunteers endless hours to G-R in the weight room, to the young kids programs, to the football program, and to the girls' and boys' basketball programs. He also has a daughter playing for Bruce right now who is an incredible shooter.

Roger Oberhauser is a good friend who is coaching at Gilbertville Don Bosco and also feeds my passion for basketball. Roger had three back to back winning seasons at Jesup missing the state tournament by one game last year. He has  Don Bosco playing tremendous defense right now and they sit with a 10-7 record. They also play with the passion that their coach has for the game.

Hugh DeBerg is another coach that allows me to watch and talk about his boys' team here at Jesup. Hugh may be the greatest fundamental coach I have ever been around. His players are not only fundamentally sound, but  they are put in the position to succeed night in and night out. His athletes compete until the buzzer every night. Hugh has a passion for whatever he does be it in the classroom as a teacher, on the golf course, or as a parent. I am honored and proud to know him.

There are probably six more coaches that I could speak about here. Guys like Roger Wright at Ed-Co, Steve Crawford at Sumner-Fred, Steve Moon at Denver, Tom Klein at Jesup, Matt Switzer at Union, and Jason Yesek at Dunkerton. They are loyal friends. My conversations with them, and my chance to go watch their teams play make the long cold Iowa winters go faster.

Win the Battle Lose the War

A coach that would trade a thousand victories........................ Learn more about Bob Hurley in this article.

A Hall of Famer

Dear John Letters

I am not a big concert goer. I think in my life time I have been to three including the 80's Punk Rock group Oingo Boingo when they played  at Luther College. A wonderful lady got me a ticket for that concert. They do not sing about roping goats like most of the people I listen to. Concerts have never fired me up, probably because I do not like to deal with large crowds. Although, as Lincoln once said, "I like to be alone in a crowd".

Any way, If I were to go to a concert now I would probaly go to either a John Prine concert, or maybe even go to watch Iris Demente. Iris Dementes voice haunts me, and I think Prine may be the best song writer of my generation. Here is a duet by them called "In Spite of Ourselves".

The U.S.O

I have become a great fan of Youtube. It is there I can get my daily fix of Norah Jones. I love her voice. Here she does a John Prine song "That's The Way The World Goes 'Round."

Rules of Engagement

I have got to say it, I am angry. I went to four basketball games last night. For a person like me that is like an addict getting a week’s worth of hits. I love to watch basketball. I went home angry. I watched the Jesup Middle School Girls’ host Union, than I watched the Varsity boys’ and girls’ host Grundy Center.

The thing that got me angry was the last quarter of the seventh grade girls’ game. Here are the events as they unfolded; at about the start of the seventh grade game Grundy Center arrived. Al Jones the coach at Grundy and I have been friends for years and we were talking, as the seventh grade game was unfolding. His assistant coach came up and started whining to “get them off the floor, get it over with, and do not let them call time out.” Finally I said coach these kids have invested time to play games so stop it. In the fourth quarter they played the game with a running clock, and the game ended in a tie 15 to 15.

It was about the time the assistant started whining that I got mad. First we ask our middle school teams to come to practice at six in the morning, they start at about the same time of the year as the high school kids do, then, they only get to play 10-12 games with six minute quarters. It is a time of heaven for them to play games. As soon as I saw the running clock I started to boil. What difference would have an extra ten minutes have made? Then when they made them finish in a tie, I contacted some of the parents whose kids are playing and asked them if they were as disappointed as I was? What would one minute overtime have hurt anyone?

I know the argument, it was a school night, we have space limitation issues, all of these are good but do not punish the 7th graders for these issues. In my last post I whined like this as well, but I did not give any answers. Well, for this post I have the answers to my rant.

First off we need to stop asking our middle school kids to practice before school. There is no need. We have two gyms now we can schedule them in after school. I believe that was one of the arguments for the new gym. Here is how we could schedule the gyms for all levels.



Week 1


Old Gym 3:20-4:40 Middle School Girls           New Gym Middle School Boys

Old Gym 4:40-6:40 High School Boys              New Gym High School Girls

Rotate gyms every other week



(If you have enough high school kids for two practices add twenty minutes and budget your time of that two hours i.e. 4:40:7:00 Varsity 4:40-6:40 JV 5:15-7:00 But I believe schools are size JV and varsity could practice together.)



On Wednesdays and game days for JV and Varsity the Jr. High will have to practice in the morning or you could do the following schedule

Old Gym 3:30-4:40 Middle School Girls     New Gym 3:30-4:40 Middle School Boys

Old Gym 4:40-6:00 High School Girls         New Gym 4:40-6:00 High School Boys



As far as the middle school games are concerned we must give them the respect they deserve and allow them to finish their games. Ten minutes late in a high school person’s life is not much. So a few whiners will have to wait, give the middle school athletes the respect that we ask of them. Second what are we telling the parents and fans of the visiting team when we do that? “Your time or your children’s time do not matter to us.”

I am sure I will disappoint a few people with this post, but let us be real and respectful with our expectations.

The Old Man

"He does not allow tackling in practice, has no playbook and does not require his players to participate in strength and conditioning workouts. There is no yelling, no tackling dummies and no whistles. His quarterbacks call most of the plays." How can they keep this young football coach on?

Read more at http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/19/sports/ncaafootball/19coach.html?_r=1

The Thoughts of an Old Warrior

I know with my 50th birthday last week I am as old as Methuselah now. Once in a while with a person in my extended years they ramble. Well consider this essay that, my ramblings. I cannot believe the amount of time we are asking our athletes to put into club, AAU, booster club sports in their elementary years. It is out of control.

I know the argument by the coaches, heck I used it, “everyone else is doing it, if we do not do it we will fall behind.” So what happens is in the summer schools our size ,have school sanctioned softball and baseball, town sponsored softball and baseball, summer soccer, summer volleyball camps, basketball camps, basketball team camps, cross country camps, summer football, and open weight room. Oh yes, then in our area for about 15-20 days we ask our kids to go out and learn “ how to work” by dettassling corn.

Then in the winter of the year we ask our kids to play USVBA volleyball, indoor soccer, indoor softball, go to baseball, and softball camps, play school basketball, booster club basketball, AAU basketball, and lift weights for football. All of that is included with school sponsored basketball and wrestling. Oh yes, then we ask them to be good family people during the holidays.

I will not ramble with the spring and the fall but you get the just of things, it is out of control.

The other problem we have is the cost financially to do these things. Basketball, baseball, football, and volleyball shoes together, cost an athlete 200-400 dollars an athlete, wow. Imagine what a family with three or four children pay for shoes. Now let’s also multiply what it costs to play in the Cedar Valley soccer league, on AAU or select team basketball, and on USVBA volleyball. Then throw in the cost for gas or the family to go watch. My father had a saying he would yell at the television every time he would see a politician, “get your hands out of my pocket.”

Next let’s look at the division of the community these things do. First let’s look at a town our size that only has a school and no recreation program. One of the first things we are doing is asking the school to do things that a city rec-program should and could be doing. The two main reasons we do not have a city recreational program is because of the cost to the tax payers and people not wanting that, the other reason are private gyms do not want it because it would take money out of their pockets. Without city recreation programs parents take on this responsibility. We want our students to grow up and volunteer like their parents but the problem you end up having is parents may not be prepared to do it. Second parents may not ask certain kids, because they are not friends with their children. When you do not include everyone at a young age you are running kids out of sports at the high school level.

I am fifty years old now; as my eye sight is failing me, I see things much clearer now.

Ten years ago this week one of the planes carrying the Oklahoma State mens basketball team went down on the praire in Colorado on their way home. Remember them with this article from Sports Illustrated.

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/basketball/college/news/2001/01/28/okstate_folo_ap/

Respect Your Allies

A recent article was posted in a newspaper about a local school running the system. I talked to several people that read that article. I could see “the system is ridiculous” look in their eye. Even as recently as a year ago that would have got my goat. Not any more, I have become comfortable with my knowledge, believes, and understanding of the game of basketball and the system. I do know that the system is not the only way to coach basketball, and I do know that some people are not comfortable teaching the system. I will not pretend to tell them that they are wrong and I am right. What I would hope they would do though is show respect for my values and believes about basketball.

The War Rages

Here is a great article over system member Bruce Bailey’s team. It appeared in the Waterloo Courier Friday January 21, 2011.

Gladbrook-Reinbeck

The Words of a Warrior

Coach Virgil Hovden allowed me to be an assistant for him at Dunkerton High School from 2005-2008. On that team was one of the five most competitive people that I have ever had the opportunity to be around when I coached. Her name was Kayla Waskow. Here I asked Kayla a few questions about basketball and life.


When did you get started playing sports? What sports did you play growing up?

-Sometime in elementary school. T-Ball was my first organized sport so probably around 1st grade or so. I played t-ball/softball, basketball, volleyball in jr high and ran track,

Did you play travel basketball? Who was your coach? Do you have good memories of it?

-I played AAU ball for one summer for IBCA. Coaches were Scott Moenk, Adam Dejoode, and a few others. Had a blast-in the end am very happy I ended up doing it. It is an interesting experience.

When you were younger, were there any high school players you looked up to?

Not particularly, Maybe some of the boys on our high school team including Shane Lienau when I was very young and then Brian Brungard when I was in jr. high.

Did you go to high school games? What games do you remember?

Yes, I went to them occasionally. My oldest brother, Chuck played when I was in late elementary and jr high. When I was in elementary school we went once and a while but not very often. The games that I remember most are boys games and typically involved Dunkerton playing Fredericksburg.

What is your best memory about basketball at Dunkerton High School?

Going to State my senior year-was an awesome experience because it was always a childhood dream of mine. Also when we beat Walnut Ridge at the buzzer in districts my freshman year.


How does religion play a place in your life?

It plays a huge role in my life. I always attended church and sunday school growing up and try to make it to church on a regular basis down here at college. I base many of my decisions off of my values and morals that are Christian based.

What was your most satisfying game in high school? What was your most disappointing game in high school?

Most satisfying was likely our first round win at state my senior year. Also my career high game for points when we beat GMG in a close game at their place.
Most disappointing would be our loss at state



Where did you get the passion you had for basketball?

No particular place. Just always liked watching it-was a big Michael Jordan fan growing up.


What are your thoughts about the system coach Hovden implemented when you were in high school?

I think it’s a great system to get many people involved. It is also a fun way to play basketball because it is so uptempo. The only downfall is that it places less talented people on the floor for about the same amount of time as the more talented players.


Are you active in athletics right now?

-Yes I play bball at Coe College


Do you have any regrets about basketball?

-Nope. Absolutely love it and love where I'm playing at now.


Who are three people you would like to have dinner with?

-It’s weird, I have never really thought of this before.
-Michael Jordan
-Grandparents that died when I was young
-Jesus

A Helping Hand in Battle

Growing up AM radio was the main frequency, a star on that frequency was Paul Harvey. He always told "The Rest of the Story". One of those stories was about the great Renaissance artist Albrecht Durer. The lesson is none of us can do it on our own.

"Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this big family, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.

Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht Durer the Elder's children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy.

After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.

They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg. Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.

When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you."

All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no ...no ...no."

Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother ... for me it is too late."

More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver point sketches, water-colors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.

One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love "The Praying Hands."

The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one - no one - - ever makes it alone!"

Shock and Awe

I have heard a lot of coach’s talk about their athletes shooting woes this year. I have also talked to a lot of “traditional” coaches whose athletes are shooting a poor percentage.

A couple of observations, first off the system teams are putting themselves in a position to win because they are getting more shots in a game and have more possessions. The traditional folks are losing a larger amount of their games because they do not have the opportunities.

A couple of theories why both groups are not shooting so well; 1) Investiture; I am not convinced that players shoot as much in the off season for two reasons, In smaller schools like mine all sports want a cut of the athletes time and they are so divided with their time that they do not shoot in the off season, also with all of the other things to use their time on such as computers, cell phones, cars, and jobs, they do not take the time to shoot in the off season. 2) You are playing at a pace that few of the athletes have ever played at. I know when I was a traditional coach I thought “wow my kids play hard. “ But until you see and coach system everyday as a coach you do not understand what hard is.

Does this answer their shooting problems? Let me answer my own question- NO. But go back to the original reasons the system was set up, to give teams that are not as talented opportunities to achieve goals, to give them the advantage of surprise in the press, to give them a better chance to win with better effort and not necessarily better talent.

Look at the goals of the system, depending on the level of play you are at you want more shots, more three’s shot, more offensive rebounds, force your opponents into more turnovers, and get more shots than your opponents. Nowhere does it talk about a better shooting percentage. Again, does this answer their shooting problems? Let me answer my own question- NO.

Coaches I am interested, would you be shooting a better percentage playing traditional? Have I helped you at all with this post? Probably not, but I hope it helps you understand that the system does not promise a better percentage. If I annoyed you with this post it was not my intention. Good luck! Keep firing, that is system.

Battle Tactics

I am sort of struggling today, but one thought comes to my mind, why do I have to do things traditionally? Why do I have to be how people want me to be? Why must I live my life how others expect me to live it? Who is to say the following is wrong?

"I cdnuolt blveiee that I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd what I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in what oerdr the ltteres in a word are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is that the frsit and last ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can still raed it whotuit a pboerlm. This is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lt et ER by istlef, but the word as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? Yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt!"

The Art of War

In “The Art of War” Sun –tzu talks about the important traits of the leader of an army. I am convinced that they fit what traits a good coach should have as well. These are especially true for system coaches.

Wisdom

Knowledge

Credibility

Benevolence

Courage

Unconcern for fame

Places Army (Players) First

Tranquility

Obscurity

Upright

Self Discipline

Clever

Inventive

Sun-tzu said” In general, commanding a large number is like commanding a few. It is a question of dividing up the numbers. Fighting with a large number is like fighting with a few. It is a question of configuration and designation.” If that doesn’t sound system I do not know what is.

Peace

“Live this day as if it will be your last. Remember that you will only find ''tomorrow'' on the calendars of fools. Forget yesterday's defeats and ignore the problems of tomorrow. This is it. Doomsday. All you have. Make it the best day of your year. The saddest words you can ever utter are, ''If I had my life to live over again. ''Take the baton, now. Run with it! This is your day! Beginning today, treat everyone you meet, friend or foe, loved one or stranger, as if they were going to be dead at midnight. Extend to each person, no matter how trivial the contact, all the care and kindness and understanding and love that you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again.”

Og Mandino

My Outfit

There is a wonderful song by Danny Schmit Called “Company of Friends”. In that song he talks about his beliefs.It got me thinking about my company of friends and my values as well. Here are my core beliefs. Do not hesitate to listen to the song and make comments about your beliefs in my comments.

I believe in the system
I believe in defense
I believe in the three
I believe in the next one in

I believe in the solitude of the river road
I believe the Wapsipinicon river valley is paradise
I believe in the quiet of the timber
I believe in the grace of the chicken hawk

I believe in my school
I believe in my students
I believe in my ability to educate them
I believe in my student’s great humor

I believe in golf
I believe in the challenge it provides
I believe in the sportsmanship it asks you to have
I believe in my nine iron

I believe in my friends
I believe friends can let you down
I believe friends can pick you up
I believe hate is a terrible thing

I believe in a higher power
I believe in prayer
I believe in the value of religion
I believe in being positive

I believe in private demons
I believe in love of friends
I believe in being motivated
I believe in motivating

I believe what my parents taught me was right
I believe family is life
I believe you can have family that is not a blood relative
I believe in love

I believe in old people
I believe in poor people
I believe in handicapped people
I believe in others

I believe that when my body no longer walks this earth my soul will in the memory of my friends and family. I believe it isn’t necessary to understand things in order to believe in them.

The Battlefields of My Youth

I grew up in the greatest neighborhood any child could ask for. One block from my high school, and two blocks from my middle school; it meant gyms, baseball fields, and football fields, but generally we just played in Balks lot or in each other’s yard. My neighborhood was filled with large Catholic families. This was great for an only child, because I could go in any direction and get a brother or sister of my choice in two minutes or less. The 1960-70’s were wonderful in a large Catholic town because you had endless groups of playmates and we did play, this was long before the PC, cable TV or cell phones.

We had the McCarville’s with seven kids, the Sill’s with eight kids, one Murray family with four kids, another Murray family with two kids, the Sirs with seven, the Bruns with four, the Buntrock’s with four, the Larson’s with four, the Skoda’s with three, the Bouska’s with two, the Endicott’s with three, the Hall’s with three, the Galvin’s with three, and the Houdek’s with two. I know am leaving people out but this was my sanctuary. I learned about girls’ here when I would watch an older sister beat up a younger brother it scared me. One day I watched as an older brother put his younger brothers in the streets on their tricycles and run in and tell his mom that they were out in the street and they were spanked. I can still see the grin on the older brother’s face. There were so many times I wished I had a younger brother or sister to blame things on.

My neighborhood had Cheaty Hall she was so cool. I hung around her brother Troy. I was just another annoying little kid like her brother. There was Barb Sill I had such a crush on her. Like Cheaty; she had long strait hair that was in fashion during the time. We had Tracy Hall he always drove cool cars. He drove a jeep into our yard one day and my mom almost killed him. We had Connor Galvin, he drove race cars. We had the intellect Danny Larson who became a lawyer and also climbed Everest.

It seemed as though,I always ended up with the McCarvilles. I was just another mouth to feed when I walked in the door, but their mother Carol always fed this growing sparrow. Their dad Bud gave me my first job, working for his auction company. Their oldest boy Steve allowed me and his younger brothers to milk cows with him when he did chores for a farmer. I doubt if I could have been around better people in my youth then the McCarvilles and the other families in my neighborhood.

The Colonel's Wife

In August of 2005 I took a high school basketball team to play in a tournament in Ireland. While I was there my mother had a stroke. When I was in a layover in Boston on my flight home my mom passed away. I wrote this eulogy for her when I returned.

Eulogy For Berniece Gillespie
By Jim Gillespie
August 18, 2005


Mom, it is almost impossible to speak of you in past tense. I cannot accept that all of us are standing here beside your casket. I cannot accept that the terrible disease of diabetes put an end to your life’s work, and cut short your energy and strength. You were an exemplary role model for how people should handle adversity in their life, through courage, determination, and competitive spirit.

Your competitive drive came out as you would join your brothers and sister in games of cards such as yukor, five hundred, and pepper. Your drive to be successful would break out in small arguments with them, but your true love for them would come out as you and they would break down in tears as you and they would say farewell for a short time or for years. Few people knew of your love to dance and go to dances. Be it to a local place to hear a polka band or when you were young and you went to Davis Corners to dance to Guy Lombardo and his Orchestra.

As my mother you taught me how to face adversity with a strength and determination matched by few. As bad health started affecting you, the ways you found to battle continued to amaze me. One way was your love to work outside in the yard. As you got older and faced your first stroke you had me purchase a riding lawn mower so you could continue to care for the yard. Although several people would beg to differ, you always said you had the best looking lawn in Jesup.

It is difficult to put my feelings into words, but I will try to tell you what mom meant to me. She was a loving mother who showed unconditional love. She was a loving wife who ran a household while dad was gone one night or one weak while he was driving truck. I will always remember her grace during adversity, her elegance, her generosity, her sky blue eyes, and as a woman that displayed true sincerity. She was always honest and down to earth with all that she met.

I know mom would want me to tell you how she loved you dearly. She relished her role as aunt, and as all of her brothers and her sister passed away she understood and fulfilled her role as matriarch of the Benson family. Although she was unable to always come and see you she loved when many of her nieces and nephews would come and see her.

She was not limited to blood family either, as every Wednesday and every Sunday she would scour the Waterloo box scores to see how her ‘boy’s’ teams were doing. She always were looking for Rogers score at Ed-Co, Virgil’s score at Dunkerton, Tim’s score at Jesup, or Steve’s score at Fredericksburg. If any of them would call, Mom would always ask me how they thought things were going for them, and if any of them took things to seriously she would always remind me that we would all face tougher challenges in their life then a loss in a basketball game.

If it were not for mom I would not have achieved what I have in this life. She pushed me to go farther in education and she seen that I not only graduated from high school but college as well, denying her-self things so I could get that degree. I can thank mom for my strong passion to succeed and to see that others around me succeed as well.

We have lost a very dear woman. At this moment, the only thing that is left to us is to remember the nice moments in your life. You are no longer, but your spirit, your faith, your devotion, the devotion to the path, remain with us. Mom, I leave you with a tear and a hug. I loved you so very much, a woman, a great mother, a friend and a teacher like you--- I will no longer have.

In the words of Bach; "Don't be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are family and friends."

Sarg......

I gave this eulogy at a memorial for long time Jesup business teacher Pat Roths in April 2008. Cancer stold a wonderful woman.

I can hear Ms. Roths now;

“Standup straight Gillespie”

“Awe Gillespie don’t be a weenie and stop fidgeting”

“Get rid of your gum.”

“Make eye contact with your audience.”

“Speak slowly and annunciate so people can understand you.”

Well my dear friend Roths, do not worry, I will sing your praises.


Mr. Chamberlin and I talked to Ms. Roths shortly after she came back to New Hampton from Rochester and she told us she wanted to come back to Jesup one more time. Welcome home Pat.


Eulogy For Pat Roths
By Jim Gillespie
April 17, 2008

Our Dear Pat, It is almost impossible to speak of you in the past tense. I cannot accept that all of us – Family, friends, students, and faculty are standing here mourning you. I cannot accept the fact that an abominable plague called cancer put an end to your life’s work, and cut short your energy and your strength. You were a woman in whom the vision and values of education radiated from. I have known Pat for twenty-four years, in those years I have come to know her kindness and compassion. As I have been checking the caring bridge that was set up by her niece often the last few weeks, I have come to realize the tremendous impact Pat has had on 1000’s of peoples life’s as an educator and I know she would take great pride in knowing that.

One of Pat’s strengths and loves was the organization of school events and having a hand to help organize Prom or homecoming, making sure that all details were covered by her students. She did not want one thing to go unnoticed or unrecognized making sure that all in attendance were happy and taken care of equally. It is Ironic that Prom is this Saturday night. When a faculty member would retire or go to the hospital Pat would always organize a gift or flowers to see that all were remembered and good thoughts were conveyed to them. Most all of us on the faculty and in the student body were in someway touched by Pats thoughtfulness and love.

I spoke to many students Miss Roths had in class, and asked them about their thoughts about Ms. Roths; Erica Kite said “I will not forget Ms. Roths advice to enjoy every moment you have.” “Nick Kite said Ms. Roths found the good in the things that were bad,” Dontae Taylor said “Ms. Roths was always willing to give a helping hand.” Kelli Oliver said “Ms. Roths put the lives of others before her own.” Veronica Reece lamented “the upper hallway of the high school will never be the same.” Taylor Kraii wrote “today we celebrate your life, not saying goodbye, for we all know we will see you again.” Perhaps student Amber Haack said it best on the Caring Bridge. “Miss Roths was truly a blessing to the students of Jesup High School.” To continue quoting Amber she said “I can honestly say Miss Roths was one of my favorite teachers. She always had a smile on her face and loved to tease each and every one of her students. No matter how bad of a day I was having, Miss Roths could always help me see the bright side of everything. She cared for all her students and was always there when they needed her.” Another student, Caitlyn Borwig said “helping students succeed in life was her career and passion.” People those thoughts are hard to top.

Pat believed in the students of Jesup, she believed the majority wanted success and a bright future and she realized as one person she could influence many. The number of past and present students here today is a monument to that belief. I truly believe Pat most of all was proud to be a teacher. She had this apple on her desk for many years as a quiet monument to remind herself that first and foremost she was an educator. Dennis Hart retired teacher and dear friend to Pat called me Saturday and said “Gillespie he took our friend from us.” Dennis, I have had almost a week to think about it, and think perhaps God needs a close friend right now as well. Pat will be missed. Pat was a loving daughter, aunt, and sister. I will always remember her infectious laugh as she would meet students and faculty in the halls with a wit and humor that we all valued and loved. On more then one day she found a minute to needle Dave Steuben about his beloved Cyclones with that big grin on her face.

Pat was always willing to lend a hand, give some advice, listen, help someone in need, go the extra mile, give without expecting something in return, and maybe her most endearing quality was to standup for what she believed was right. She taught me how to understand the meaning of love, friendship, fun, devotion, commitment, success, and generosity. There is pain and sorrow to bear, but, in time, we will be comforted by the warmth of our memories of our dear friend Pat. Pat was a jewel on this earth, now that jewel brightens heaven. I wish the angels peace as Pat brings her great laugh and her great personality to their midst.

The Colonel

My father was a product of Cottageville, West Virginia. Raised there during the great depression, he was the youngest of four children, two boys and two girls. Dad’s father, Wallace, was a horse trader, his neighbors all raised tobacco. Dad felt all of his life like he had to support the tobacco farmers so he chewed Mail Pouch, smoked El Producto cigars, would role his own cigarettes, smoke a pipe now and again, and even put in a pinch of snuff. Dad’s first job was driving sanitized jars from the creamery to the guys that made their own whiskey in the hills around Cottageville, he called it paradise. I have attached John Prines song "Paradise" with this post. He also swept out the round house in Huntington allowing the tramps to sneak in after everyone left at night for a warm place to sleep, and seeing they were out before anyone arrived in the morning the next day.

My father loved horses and this lead him to a short career in the rodeo. He enjoyed riding the bulls and would have lasted longer had he not been bucked off and broke both of his arms ending that career. He told the story of when he was growing up and a horse bit him in the right bicep. The doctor was nine miles away and the vet was three miles away. The vet gave him twenty-one stitches. He had the scar to prove it.

Dad also drove semi for thirty years going over three million miles and entering 48 states, Canada, and Mexico. I will never forget a trip he had to make for a company he had to work for. A company out of Chicago had bought up a bunch of old, handicapped, and insane horses near Dubuque and dad had to run them into Chicago to the “glue factory”. Even though I was about ten years old I could see the stress on dad’s face as he watched them load the horses to the trailer. Dad knew what was going to happen to these horses and it bothered him. He also realized that these horses were going to rock his truck all the way to Chicago. I saw that stress on his face only about three other times in my life.

Dad never wandered far from his roots, he always wore cowboy boots, loved pork chops and my mom’s biscuits, loved a Sunday afternoon nap when he was home, and loved to tinker with steam engines in the garage. I can still picture him sitting in his recliner with a check full of tobacco watching Sanford and Sons or the Rockford Files on a summer Friday night.

Expensive possessions mean very little to me, so I do not have a lot, what I do have are memories and I have some things that allow me to rekindle them. One possession I have are my dad’s spurs. They hang in my home.