Monday, October 26, 2015

Ooo Amsterdam… You Bring Back Memories

And not the memories one typically associates with Amsterdam. There was no revelry, debauchery, or insane amounts of delicious pancakes.

Jogging* leisurely this morning, I could not help but recall that the last time I ran in Amsterdam involved no leisure.

I was 21 and had just graduated college. The real world did not begin until August 17th, and what better way to spend my final weeks of freedom than coaching tennis in Europe.

The gig was pretty straight-forward. Another coach and I would lead a team of 16 US teenagers as they played in various tournaments throughout Europe - Barcelona, Amsterdam, Frankfurt, Trier, and finally, sightseeing in Paris. There would, of course, be challenges. The kids had parents who were able to afford a $10,000 summer trip, and sometimes, their attitudes strongly reflected that. Their suitcases did as well, and the son of the Yale (or was it Princeton?) President had luggage totaling 60 pounds.* I was put on the most competitive of the six teams, so many of the boys were better than I.* I would have to drive stick – and not just stick in the two-door coupe I had learned weeks before leaving. I had to drive stick in a 9-passenger rental van with eight teenagers and their luggage. The whole operation, needless to say, works a bit differently. Plus, there was the whole, “You’re 21 and chaperoning a bunch of 16-18 year olds through Europe."

But the other coach was apparently one of the top pros in Australia, had been with the program for years, and it was a free trip to Europe. I was stoked.

There are a lot of stories that came from this trip, and frankly, I am surprised it has taken so long to enter this blog. Since I am in Amsterdam, though, I will stick to that week. It was, after all, the turning point.

We arrived in Amsterdam for the second of four tournaments. The first week had gone by relatively smoothly. I only stalled about 25 times, and a couple of our kids made the tournament finals. The other coach, who we shall call Stefan, because it sounds cool and foreign, despite his occasional patronizing comments and one freak out* on laundry day, was generally jovial. Although he warned me profusely not to befriend the kids, as they may take advantage of me, I had a good rapport with all of them. They had yet to stretch the rules, and until they did, they had my trust. They were sweet, good kids, who actually at this point are probably old enough to buy me a drink… and possibly fund my travel itch with their trust funds.

Besides the point... Back to the story. To recap the full tale would be quite laborious, so we will enter on the fateful night. I was sleeping, snoring away. Tennis tournaments in Amsterdam go until quite late, and Stefan had graciously taken the night shift. He returned around 12:30, and a few kids who had not been playing were still awake, sitting on the second story roof. He was very unhappy about them being on the roof,* but even more irate about the brown bag they had in their hands. He accused them of buying weed and made them reveal the contents. Gummies – which, incidentally, can have similar soothing affects as weed and similar addicting affects as cocaine, possibly explaining the eight pounds I gained during the trip. However, not against the rules.

I woke up the next morning, ready to tackle another day of coaching. I packed my book bag with the tournament fees (totalling around $6000 euro, which at the time, before Greece so graciously devalued the Euro, was about $10,000 USD), my wallet, a whole lot of paperwork, and money for laundry. At least this time, though, the kids were joining us for the laundry excursion.

It was at some point during this process the evening's bizarre events were recounted to me, and I heard the news – Stefan was quitting. What?!? Yes, the program had been sending 5 – 8 teams to Europe for thirty years, and no coach had ever quit. And yes, Stefan was quitting, leaving me to coach and chaperone sixteen teenagers for three more weeks.

Processing this turn of events, I grabbed my laundry bag and joined everyone, including Stefan, for our twenty-minute walk to the Laundromat, conveniently located next to a shoe store. I don’t spend much time at laundromats, but this was definitely the most awkward of my minimal experiences. I lightened the atmosphere when I could, and Stefan made sure to throw in a couple jabs about how the incident the night prior was my fault. I told him nowhere in my contract did it say the kids could not eat gummies and thought about those fantastic green boots in the window next door. Deciding it would be inappropriate to buy boots at a time like this, I resisted my urge and endured the laundromat for two hours.

When it was time to go, we gathered our belongings and set off on the 1.5 kilometer* journey to our hotel. About 1 kilometer into that journey, I realized I had left my book bag at the laundromat. I screamed "fudge," or something along those lines, gave my laundry bag to a player, and sprinted like I was chasing $10,000, my dignity, identity, and sanity. Because I was.

Heaving my way into the laundromat, I was relieved to find the book bag had not moved. All contents were in their places, and I began my return. As I looked to the left, those green boots called my name – it had to be my name - and “retail therapy.” I rushed into the store, tried one shoe on, threw some euros at the cashier, and was on my way. With a lighter heart and my new boots.

At this point, the head honchos had joined and were devising contingency plans. Since they had no backup coaches for such circumstances, I would be mostly on my own. They reminded me repeatedly how I could not let the kids take advantage of me, and I gently reminded them that I was the coach who did not quit.

The rest of the trip was exhausting, but there were definitely some highlights. The kids told me how much they respected me and that they would do everything they could to make the trip as easy as possible. And they were a pleasure. We watched the Netherlands win the world cup semifinal in Museum Square. We had a tournament winner. I coached a girl through her mental weaknesses to victory. I drank wine beneath the Eiffel Tower. I also learned by way of the coaching grapevine, that Stefan partied often with his players in previous years, and the year prior, one girl had been rushed to the hospital to get her stomach pumped. This explained his intense warnings to me, but what he should have said was, "If you do not feed the teenagers liquor, they are less likely to drink it." Revolutionary, I know.

Finally, I learned a valuable lesson: God will give you challenges, sometimes seemingly ridiculous challenges, but accompanying those challenges, there will be green boots.

It’s funny how experiences prepare you, and you can look back and appreciate them. Still, I am glad this trip is a bit less stressful. Of course, it is only Monday.



* I believe the Deutsch pronounce it "yogging." Silent y. I also believe people in the Netherlands speak Deutsch.
* That's 80 kilos, right?
* Possibly some of the girls, but I hold I would have novocained them all.
* His uncle had died at the age of 89, so his freak out was partly due to that. Plus, imagine lugging sixteen kids’ laundry bags around the city. Not fun. Still, no need to project onto me, who is also dealing with sixteen kids’ laundry bags.
* Another story...
* Speaking in kilometers feels right.

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