RIP Bob Barciz

What seems like only a short while ago, the most important thing in my life was playing basketball.  And during my eighth grade year at St. Thomas Aquinas on the east side of Toledo, the most important thing about basketball was beating the girls down the road from St. Stephen's.  We were huge rivals in the world of girls CYO basketball and at the time, it was pretty intense.  So naturally, it came as a huge blow to lose to them in what would be our last tournament meeting.  To make things worse, their win sent us to the loser's bracket.

In the fourth quarter of the toilet bowl championship, the girls from St. Stephen's, lead by their grey-haired coach, marched across the court during a time-out and gathered around the end of our bench.  We were miffed.  Were they here to taunt us?  Warm up early for the real championship game?  Run us out of the building.  Nope.  Nothing could have been more shocking than to realize they had come to cheer for us.  After all, we were playing a team from the OTHER side of town.  This served as my first official lesson that east-siders stick together. 

As we took the floor, a chant started behind us:  East. Side. Pride!  East. Side. Pride!  The gym filled with chanting and clapping.  Pretty soon our fans stood up to join them, and the other team was finished.  I actually, honest to God, remember noticing how pleased their coach was by what had happened.  And that's how I came to meet Coach Bob Barciz.

Soon after, Coach Barciz put together a summer league called the East Side All-Stars (were you expecting a different name?) and he asked me to be on the team.  It would mean playing with girls from different schools around the area, but mostly girls from St. Stephen's.  It was meant to serve as the starting point for the girls that would attend Cardinal Stritch High School together and soon be on the same team anyway.  Plus, it was easy to see that old Coach Barciz loved the game of basketball, and he loved his players.  I jumped at the chance, eager to see what I could learn from this new coach.

As it turned out, Coach Barciz was not just passing us along to the high school.  He stuck around for the next four years and, at different times, served as freshman coach, summer league coach, scout and personal life coach.  During summer league ball before my senior year, a girl from the opposing team slammed into me and I completely blew my knee out.  No chance for recovery before the season started.  

Obviously, Division 5 high schools aren't a college scouter's paradise for finding potential talent, but I had a few Division 3 and even Division 2 colleges interested.  I had never dreamed of playing for a big-time school, I had never dreamed of being the best player out there--I just loved to play.  With my injury, however, my chances of playing college basketball were pretty slim and I was deflated.  Few people understood how my world had been turned upside-down.  But Coach Barciz, who wasn't even technically my coach anymore, reached out and offered a helping hand.

He called me everyday immediately after my injury.  (After awhile, he scaled it back to once a week.)  He stayed after games to talk to me when I decided to forgo surgery and play with a brace.  He showed up at my house to visit after I gave in and finally had surgery in December.  And the next summer, exactly one year to the date of my injury, the phone rang and I heard his scratchy voice telling me he was going to pick me up in his big boat of a car to take me out for ice cream.

In his obituary today, they called us his basketball sons and daughters.  I caught him on the tail-end of his coaching days, so I imagine there are hundreds, if not thousands, of young people Coach Barciz helped in a similar fashion.  I think about all he did and how much of himself he gave to others for so many years.  Giving up Saturdays to be at the gym, staying up late at night to draw up a new play, and waiting time after time until the last parent came to pick up their child.  Seeking out the child who needed encouragement, standing up for the child who needed support and uniting two rival teams so the high school experience would be far more productive and enjoyable.  

It's a wonder that I'm just now realizing that Coach Barciz was teaching us life skills as well as basketball.  How to be leaders, to be civic-minded, to invest heavily in your community and the people in it, to look at time as your companion, not your enemy.  To love those people around you, not those things around you.  And that a simple trip for ice cream can change a person forever.

RIP Coach Barciz.  You will be missed.