THE LAST SEASON

By Mark Harrison

Mark Harrison is an entrepreneur, the founder of The T1 Agency, the longtime coach of the Lawrence Park Collegiate senior football team and a director on the board of Football Canada.

I see ghosts whenever I pass by an empty football field. At its most quiet, the expanse where there should be coaches, players, pylons, blocking sleds, and goal post wraps lays empty. At its most vibrant it is the scene of happy dogs enjoying the attention of their new owners who rushed to add a companion for the family when the pandemic hit. But for me I see neither the emptiness nor the energy.

I see a ghost of myself strolling from sideline to sideline. Quietly chatting to a young man about his test that day or exhorting another to put more effort into his actions. I see young men creating lifelong bonds forged from sweat, dirt, blood, and laughter. I see my opponent taking shape in my mind, as we develop plays and strategies to combat their schemes and scripts. I see parents huddled together in the stands cheering loudly for their children, while silently praying for escape from injury.

GHOSTS IMPOSSIBLE TO SHAKE

These ghosts are impossible to shake. For over a quarter of a century, each and every fall, I have been blessed to take charge of a group of eager teenagers in my role as a volunteer high school football coach. I have been doing this literally since before any of them were born. Five days a week. Sun, rain, or snow, I have spent my late afternoon on the gridiron.

I planned to keep a journal of every moment and perhaps turn it into a book. Then Covid came and took it all away.

Each and every year is the same reward discovered, yet always from a journey on a different path. The season consistently begins with anticipation around returning players, discovery of new players, and the emergence of surprise talents. Each and every year it’s a new cohort. Each and every year it’s a new recipe.

The most amazing part of coaching is watching these young men develop from strangers to brothers, from raw talents to refined machines, from unsure teens to confident warriors. It never gets old. Football is the most unique game in the world because it has a place for everyone. Helping these young men – the strong, the less strong; the tall, the less tall; the athletic, the less athletic; the confident, the less confident – find their place to shine is a drug that can never be escaped.

I COACHED FOR ME

I don’t, or didn’t, coach for the kids. I know that is what I am supposed to say. But it would be disingenuous. I coached for me. I wanted to be around these young men. I absorbed their passion, their optimism, their discovery. I wanted to throw myself into a pool of immortality. The football field was the closest proxy I could find.

Coaching is so addictive, I cannot understand why every adult would not want to do it. The time

invested is a small price to pay for the longevity I am positive it has added to my life. Every day I carried a whistle, I think, has been added to my life clock as a bonus.

The season consistently begins with anticipation around returning players, discovery of new players, and the emergence of surprise talents.

Having coached for so long I have been to my players’ weddings and unfortunately to their funerals. I have hired them, their friends, and their partners to work at my company. I have been befriended by their fathers, counselled by their mothers, and honoured by their grandparents.

What did it cost me? Nothing. I have an endless supply of passion that far outstrips my technical knowledge, and energy, for young people. It is a supply that gets recharged at every practice. It is a supply that gets supercharged at every game.

THE FINAL SEASON

Despite my quarter-century of commitment I had intended for 2020 to be my final season. My professional life has become increasingly global and the need for fall travel growing. As well I had ignored my wife’s desires to have more flexibility in our schedule for too long.

I had written my script. I would coach more energetically than ever. I knew how I wanted this magical run to end. I planned to keep a journal of every moment and perhaps turn it into a book. Then Covid came and took it all away.

Is it possible that my Last Season was really the Lost Season? I can’t answer that right now.

But what I can do is ask that next time you ride, walk, run, drive past a local football field to pause, stop, and look for me.

If you see a ghost with a whistle in shorts and a T-shirt, no matter how cold the fall day, then you will see the same thing I do.