Welcome to Asshole Coach Digest, where we regale you Deadspin folk with stories of the meanest, cruelest, most batshit insane coaches you ever had. Email me your asshole coach story here. Off we go.
Hot fire burn baby!
I had a coach for 3 years of varsity basketball who is the losingest coach in our county's history. He was notorious for getting talented players to quit and was a complete ass on and off the court. He was also a P.E. teacher and one day the fire alarm went off for a routine drill. Everyone had begun clearing out of the locker room. There was an autistic kid in the class who wasn't making moves and so my coach began yelling at him to "GET OUTSIDE NOW". I said, "Coach, relax, he's autistic. I'll get him out." My coach told me to mind my own business and then yelled to him, "YOU'RE GOING TO BURN. DO YOU HEAR ME? BUUUUURNNNN."
Nothing more tragic than a complimentary assfucking
I was playing freshman football for my Catholic high school in Dallas. We were at our crosstown rival's place and we were getting killed. Our opponents had real coaching. Our coach was essentially a shepherd for the cannon fodder that we provided the JV squad. The JV squad loved to pound on us because they were cannon fodder for varsity.
But I digress. We're getting beat 38-0 at halftime. So our coach, who was a theology teacher, gave the following speech, which I will NEVER forget: "I don't know what to say to you guys. Every week I work with you and try to teach you and teach you but you never listen. And now you're out there getting fucked like a bunch of cheap whores! But there's a difference between you and whores. Whores have more respect. They get paid for getting fucked. You're letting these guys fuck you up the ass for free."
Then he stormed off too disgusted to speak to us. So we kicked off to start the second half and they ran it back for a touchdown. After that, their coach let the special ed kids play and we shut those bitches OUT! Final score 44-0.
This had to have taken place in Jersey. I just sense it.
I grew up in the 90s when the Chicago Bulls & Michael Jordan were the most popular sports team & player. I was always a huge fan of Jordan like most guys my age, but I was lower to middle class status and my poor mom bought my shoes at Walmart, K-Mart or Payless.
I always wanted a pair of Air Jordans but knew I would never get them unless I somehow saved up myself and bought them. So the summer before my freshman year of high school, I worked my ass off and saved every bit of money I could just to get a new pair or AJ XI's. I finally would have cool shoes and hopefully that would help me feel confident on my first day of school.
I was going to a high school that was in a different district than my middle school so I would have zero friends on the first day and as a silly teenager I thought cool shoes would help people like me. I loved my new Jordans, they were bright white and perfectly shiny. I knew that we would have PE class but I was told that we didn't have to dress out for the first week cause its just written quizzes and the coach getting to know us. So I wore my new shoes on the first day of school. When we went into PE class the coach started screaming at us to dress out and get ready to run the mile to get our times.
I was shocked and asked him if it was ok if I ran to my locker to get some other shoes. He said, "Your wearing shoes, what's wrong with those"? I said, "I just bought these new Jordans and don't want to mess them up on the muddy track". He yelled back at me, "Everybody look at this pussy with the nigger shoes, he don't wanna fuck em up! Do you worship niggers or what?"
I was horrified and didn't know how to answer that question. Well I was forced to run the mile and completely destroy my shoes. By the end of the laps around the muddy track I looked down at my shoes and started to cry. It was the first time I ever had anything nice in my life and now they were ruined. Coach saw me crying and made me run again, but not before putting a shot put in each one of my hands. My legs and arm were sore for a week. He stood in the middle of the track yelling at me, "Hurry up Nigger Shoes! You're taking too long, pussy"! The rest of the year I got yelled at more than any other student and constantly called names by him, but his favorite name by far was Nigger Shoes.
Dodgeball bounties? We have a winner.
It was a rainy day, so we were in the gym playing dodgeball. Coach was bored out of his mind, so midway through the game he stops everyone, takes out his wallet and puts a $20 bill on the ground in front of his chair.
Then he says, "First guy to nail Cranford in the face gets this $20." Cranford was spindly, like I said, and quick (oh, and totally terrified, because among the guys on the other side in the game were 2 of our JV baseball team's starting pitchers and both the JV and Frosh starting quarterbacks for the football team) so he's managing to stay alive and the non-jock kids and some of us sportos with souls are starting to root for him. That's when coach stops the action again, takes out his wallet and lays out another $20 bill and a $10, upping the reward to $50.
Within about a minute the JV quarterback has nailed Cranford in the face so hard he is thrown back and knocked to the ground. When he gets up his nose is bleeding like a busted fire hydrant. All coach says to him is, "Pussy. Go see the nurse." Then to make it even better he puts the $50 back in his wallet. When the kid who scored the winning shot protests the coach tells him to shut up of he'll tell the Vice Principal that Cranford got his bloody nose because Mr. JV QB punched him. At this point in my young life this was easily the most sadistic thing I'd ever seen anyone do.
Coach's other fine, fine moment came while he was supposed to be supervising a free-run day. This particular PE class was right after lunch period and our school was near the bay, so there were always hordes of seagulls flocking around to feast on the refuse.
Halfway through class period, Coach gets nailed by a gull turd. The front of his windbreaker looks like someone splattered him with a gallon can of white paint. He squints up at the birds overhead, mutters something into his chest and walks into the gym. I figured he'd gone to wash himself off. He comes out five minutes later, still wearing the bird-turd-splattered jacket with a small, light blue, box in his hand. He opens the box and takes out a tiny foil packet. He opens the packet and starts breaking off chunks of the white wafers inside and tosses them into the air to the birds hovering overhead.
One of my buddies recognizes the packets and says, "Oh, shit, that's Alka-Seltzer!"
I had no idea what the significance of this statement was until the first bird came crashing to the ground. Then another, and another, and another. A couple kids realized what he was doing and ran over to stop him, only to be sent packing with a stream of expletives that would have made a sailor blush. By the time the end of period bell rang Coach had dispatched about a half dozen gulls. We heard the next day that he'd been put on leave for stress. I guess the Principal didn't take to kindly to a PE teacher murdering gulls in front of his students.
UPDATE: Readers have chimed in to declare the Alka Seltzer story a fraud.
You gotta put a paddle on Craig!
We were a very small school in the middle of nowhere. The class A school was so small that Mr. X was the shop teacher, head football/basketball coach, athletic director and head principal.
For whatever reason, he was running late to shop class. I guess the assumption was that Mr. X was not at school that day, but only one student was stupid (brave?) enough to fuck around. The kid decided to shoot some hoop in the gym next to the shop, the rest of us remained glued to our spots. Mr. X comes charging in 10 minutes later and immediately does roll call, making sure we "sound off" with the appropriate amount of boom in our barely pubescent voices. The missing student was about 5th on the list, "Craig! Craig! Craig?" We sat there, never making eye contact with Mr. X. Then, in the distance, you could hear the faint sound of a basketball bouncing slowly and bricking off our cheap ass hoop. Mr. X knew quickly what was up and the horrified looks on our faces confirmed it.
Mr. X storms into the gym while we quickly determined Craig's fate. We decided on detention for a week.
Mr. X drags Craig in by the collar, hands him a piece of wood, and tells him to make a paddle; reminding him to be sure and properly utilize the drill press to put some holes in that shit. To make matters worse, the five swats were bare assed, none of that over the jeans stuff.
When Mr. X was finished, he asked for a moment of honesty from his students, "Who knew Craig was in the gym? Please be honest." I'm thinking, fuck that, no way do I raise my hand. Being small town America, about half the stupid bastards in the room raised their
hands, probably because God looks down on lying or some such thing. Coach X lines up these honest bastards and gives them two swats each for lying about knowing Craig's whereabouts at the beginning of class. An hour and fifteen minutes and you've got 8 kids crying like bitches, efficiency even John Wayne Gacy envies.
What makes parents and administration look past such distribution of justice? The guy had coached the football team to multiple state championships (fucking A football, it's like being the tallest midget). Nobody ever said a single word and he continued to coach and
"educate" for years. Crazy shit is that he eventually went on to be superintendent of the school district.
Sue Sylvester finds a soul mate
My high school football coach was your typical old man coach. He ranted and raved. His favorite saying was to call us "FUCKING ABORTIONS." After a while his anger became routine. The twist is he was also in charge of the school Choir/Chorus. It was an odd combo. He would split his time between the two. There has been countless days the football team would be waiting outside the auditorium in the hallway for him to finish choir practice. we would hear, "GOD DAMN IT, YOU'RE A BUNCH OF FUCKING ABORTIONS!" The team would compare stories with the choir. He ran both the same way.