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Jerry Kellar
Friday, January 28, 2000 Page: 1B
If school boards and overbearing parents want to remove every high school
football coach who uses unpleasant language, berates his players and
occasionally smacks little Johnny on the behind, then they’ll be conducting
these silly can-the-coach hearings each day until the end of time. Hazleton
Area’s John Yaccino became the latest coach to have his job dangled in front
of him by an angry, perhaps vengeful mob Thursday night. Yaccino reportedly is
under fire for a number of issues, some potentially serious, some downright
laughable. For the record, I will neither attempt to defend nor disparage the
coach, whom I have never met. Because unless it’s proven Yaccino indeed
crossed the line, all the man stands guilty of is being a crude, no-nonsense
S.O.B. In other words, a typical football coach. If you or your kids can’t
deal with that, then you might want to consider trying something else. That,
or you had better learn and accept the following guidelines. Football is a
violent sport. Players and feelings get hurt. Coaches have no feelings. As
such, if a coach tells a kid he’s either fat, slow or dumb, chances are better
than good the tag fits. I know. Heck, up until a few years ago, I thought
“Move Your Fat Ass” was part of my given name. Criticism, no matter how
harsh, is part of the game. Unfortunately, so is a smack to the butt. I found
it interesting that some of Yaccino’s former players have accused the coach of
kicking them in the rear end. While it’s probably not the smartest move in
these insanely litigious times to lay a finger – or toe – on another person
without sufficient reason, these kids apparently have forgotten another of the
basic rules of the sport. That is, nothing moves a coach to physical
confrontation more than a guy who can’t get it right. Remember, a player who
consistently misses an assignment in practice most likely will screw up in the
game. Maniacal ex-Valley West coach George Yaniger had a darling way of
twisting your facemask – and thus, your face – while literally spitting
instructions at you. It worked. Ask any of the former Meyers athletes who
played under Mickey Gorham, a coaching legend who had a special way of
commanding attention. Even off the field. My fondest memory of “The Mick”
came when I was doing a story on his return to coaching in the early 1990s.
After a successful scrimmage, one of Gorham’s assistants attempted to assemble
the Mohawks for the traditional post-game prayer. With the music blaring, few
players heard, or cared. Then Gorham’s voice boomed: “Everybody pray.” And
everybody did.