Hope all of you are enjoying your practices in the morning and enjoying having your after noons free. Nothing too deep this week as I know being away from school and your normal routines, some of you tend to go brain dead. However after going through some of the older posts I came across an old Christmas post. I will attempt another one as I sit here on the beach watching the sun set at the Post Corner (some of you NASA kids may remember the place), as they said I could stay all night.
🎅🏻“TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE JO’s”🎅🏻
When all through the building not a swimmer was stirring, not even a official. The scoreboard and backstroke flags were hung on deck with care in the hopes that coaches would soon be there. The swimmers were nestled all snug on the deck, while visions of personal best’s danced in their heads; and mamma in her kerchief, and dad in his cap, had just settled in for a long winter meet; when out on the deck there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter. Away to the bleachers I flew like a flash, tore open the doors, threw off the towels to see what was the matter. The moon on the surface of the freshly filled pool gave luster of mid morning to objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny swimmers, with a big old coach so grumpy and sarcastic, I knew in a moment it must be coach Mike. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled (I really can’t, but this is part fiction ok) and shouted and called them by name; “Now! Kevin, Now! Katherine, Now! Blake and Sara, On Claire, On Ethan, On Emerson and Kitty (sorry he only had eight and I had the waitress pull names from a glass), to the pool deck, to the blocks, now swim away, swim away, swim away all!
As calm water before the hurricane comes. When they meet with an obstacle, plunge into the pool, to the far end they swim. With their bodies full of equipment, and Coach Mike too. And then in a twinkling, I hear in the bleachers the prancing and pawing of each little parent. As I drew in my head and was turning around, up the steps Coach Mike came with a bound. He was dressed in sweats from his head to his tennis shoes, and his clothes tarnished in holes and chlorine; a bundle of awards flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes—how they stared! His dimples—how merry (really not a chance). His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry (losing it here). His droll little mouth was drawn up in a frown, the stick of a tootsie pop held tight in his teeth. He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed like bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and large, a right frightening old coach, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word (typical), but went straight to work, and filled all the swimmer bags; then turned with a jerk, and laying his finger aside his nose, and giving a nod, down the steps he went. He sprung onto the deck, to the swimmers gave a yell and away they all swam. But I heard him exclaim, as he walked out of sight,
“Fast Swimming To all, and To all
A Good Night"
To all the swimmers, parents and families (yes you to Mary Claire) have a Merry Christmas!
Coach Mike
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