That "real coach" swagger

Having had the opportunity to be around coaches (and gymnasts, and the smell of hot dogs) for a very long weekend, I'd like to share some areas of dissent. I'd also like to share huge, gaping holes between bullet points, because otherwise they're all smushed together.

• Pot bellies who call the kettle black. You know what I mean. Large-bellied coaches who criticize their gymnasts for lack of core strength and/or fitness. Okay, Coach, you may have had a great career as a slim and trim athlete. But who are you to berate your girls when you clearly don't follow the same principles?

• Music choice...or lack thereof. Some of the teams we competed against were tremendous. As a result, all of the kids had the same floor routine. That's okay. But can they at least have different music, or several music pieces to choose from? There's a reason this isn't the compulsories.

• "Hail to the no" hair. Huge bows, feathers, fake flowers, ribbons that belong on birthday gifts. In moderation, cute (maybe). In excess, not so cute. Matching hairstyles seem to be a religion for some teams. As mentioned above, it can create a cute, unified look. But the team that dominated all of the levels, all weekend, did not have a mandated hairstyle. Which leads me to whisper loudly: "The judges don't care what your hair looks like as long as it's out of your face."

• Too cool for the kids. Gymnastics meets are long. There is much waiting around and doing a whole lot of nothing. I noticed that some coaches didn't sit anywhere near their kids for most of the competition, only approaching them when it was time to compete. Maybe this is to foster some kind of independence, I'm not sure, or to reinforce a barrier. Either way, I think it's a missed opportunity to get to know the kids better, as people and not just as gymnasts. And vice versa.

And we arrive at my personal favorite:

• Public humiliation. Greg and I are chilling there and two girls from another team are not a foot away, crying. It's a cramped space, and you know the "I hate my life" tears. They just can't be held back. Heck, my first year at Level 9, I cried at every meet, and I was 16. It was a really excellent season. Anyway, Coach of the Crying Girls approaches. He rips into the girls. Tells them that they fell off beam because they've been lazy for the past two months, and they're out of shape, and concludes it with, "I'm disappointed in you." Not only are Greg and I, total strangers to this team, sitting there, but so are the rest of the girls' teammates. Everyone hears it.

As a coach (and a person), I get frustrated. You get frustrated. He/she/we all get frustrated. But to say it simply, there's a time and a place.