Strange Times - Part 2: Hell Coach

[1979]

Peter has asked me to write about something weird for his anthology. I didn’t have to think very far at all, I knew what I’d write about the minute he called me. Hell Coach.

I think Haverbrook was a great place to be a kid. You had a town with streets to ride around in, big open fields, shops and your friends. I had my mates, Shane and Barry. On the holidays, we’d all go up to Mercino’s Fish and Chippery on the main road and we’d flick the one cent coins into the street. Don’t make one cent coins any more, turned them into bronze medals for the Sydney Olympics.

We’d spend all summer trying to find a place to get cool, riding around the streets with no shade, getting cooked alive. And then, at the end of January, we’d go back to school. Haverbrook Primary was the place, in those days it was the tallest thing around so you’d be able to see the belltower from anywhere in town, even your own backyard.

I didn’t like going back to school after holidays and come to think of it, I really hated school. I liked holidays more and school was like dead zones between the holidays. School always felt unfair; I remember getting in trouble a lot. There was the time my grade one teacher, Miss Adler, forced me to be a replacement coat rack after this guy, Blake, had broken it and blamed it on me. There was also the time the entire school had to replant the grass on the oval, every single bit and they made us do it in summer.

School really was hell. But nothing compared to our footy teacher, Hell Coach.

At my school, when you reached the age of eight, you were conscripted into the school’s three football teams where you played against the other local schools for points. There were three teams and each one had their own coach.

The first team was led by Nice Coach, a big happy woman who smiled at everything. She was always dressed in a black and white striped shirt, you all got orange slices and after games you’d all go out for chips and burgers, even if you lost. She was the one who told you:

‘Everyone’s a winner guys, you all did your best’

The second team was led by Good Coach, a young guy who showed you how to play the game. He was always dressed in a polo shirt and jeans and always told you how to do something better and when you did, it worked. He was the one who told you:

‘It doesn’t matter if you win or lose, it’s how you played the game’

The third team was led by Hell Coach, a guy with a big blonde mullet and a double chin who always wore a Richmond footy jumper. He was the one had a packet of stale biscuits from his cupboard as the only food during a game. He was the one who put a cobra into our bowl of jelly snakes. And he was the one who told you:

‘Well boys…it was a game. No doubt about that, no one can deny it. A game of football. We got in, played football and got out…’ Hell Coach paused, looking around at us before continuing,

‘The team played a good game, everyone did their best out there and we lost. So, really, your best wasn’t your best at all. But, you all had heart, you all played your hearts out there today...so it's a bit of a shame you lost without scoring a single point or goal. And there’s nobody to blame but yourself. Boys, it’s all about accountability, I wouldn’t say I’m annoyed – I am – but it’s more a type of profound disappointment. I am profoundly disappointed in you all.’

I remember we were sitting in the changing rooms after the last game and Hell Coach was giving us the post-game speech. We had lost our ninth game in a row in the premiership and we were being told what we could do better, which according to Hell Coach was not to exist on the field or somehow transform ourselves into the Richmond Football Club. Dad was waiting outside the change rooms, just like all our parents after the big game. He hadn’t met Hell Coach once. They didn’t know what we suffered.

‘Tim’ I looked up at hearing my name ‘Good work out there, I almost thought you were playing footy for a second instead of whatever it was you were doing’

‘Sorry Coach’ I muttered.

We all looked at our footy shoes as he kept going. Hell Coach had earned his name real easy, he told us off for another three minutes or so. We changed into our outside clothes and lined up near the exit where we went to meet our folks. There’s a line between the footy pitch and everywhere else and it’s not the painted one.

‘Alright, big smiles kids’ and we all changed our faces into big smiles. Hell Coach didn’t want the parents knowing what we’d been through and we knew we couldn’t tell. There were rules for telling the parents about what happened, Hell Coach would get back at you in weird ways.

Hell Coach seemed to be like a magician or something, he could just change things and weird shit happened whenever he was nearby. Wild dogs attacked Thomas during the middle of a game, Henry had the esky of water poured on him that turned out to be acid and John took a specky and just vanished a blast of orange light. We knew not to cross Hell Coach, we knew not to tell our parents about him.

So I told my dad about Hell Coach.

I tried to convince him how evil Hell Coach was. I told him about everything as we drove home that night. The time we’d come off the field expecting oranges but he’d painted lemons to look like oranges or the football camp on Phillip Island where we were expected to hunt our own food and build our own shelters. As a kid, you can never explain yourself properly and so Dad did what most parents do; they don’t believe you.

‘Timmo, mate…where do you come up with this stuff?’ and I couldn’t believe it. And I remember Dad started going on about how the Coach was doing good for the team and me. He didn’t know what he was talking about. He hadn’t climbed on top of the clubhouse to get his clothes down; he hadn’t survived an entire week on Phillip Island on a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

The next week, Hell Coach got us in the changing rooms and said:

‘Alright boys, shut up. Now...’ he paused, putting his hands on his hips and letting his bulging stomach show ‘Some of you complained to your parents about my speech last week...well it was actually just Tim.’

I panicked. How did he know this? He had this evil look on his face as he said the next thing, something I remember even as I write this now.

‘Boys, now I don't want you to handball to Tim or even acknowledge his presence. In fact, tackle him if you can. Just imagine he’s not even on the team. He’s going to be working on a new diet’ and with that we left the lockers to face Welshpool Primary. I tried desperately all game to get the ball but I was knocked to the ground by one of my team-mates.

‘Sorry Tim, but I don’t want Hell Coach to kill me’ whispered Shane as he left me bruised in the mud.

Being unable to play footy in a country town is like burning your TV or cutting your feet off; there’s nothing to do. But the diet turned out to be my real punishment. Hell Coach had gotten to my Dad and said something, and when I came home that night, all my regular food was gone and replaced with the kind of stuff a bodybuilder eats. The chips become protein bars. Water was muscle gain drink.

And so it started, my own personal hell.

‘KICK IT TO ME’ I screamed to Barry and he pretended not to hear me, punting it up field. None of my teammates spoke to me anymore, afraid of being put in Hell Coach’s bad book and facing his wrath. I simply ran about during the game, trying to get the ball and look busy in front of Dad. He was more obsessed with me winning than ever before.

In fact, all the parents wanted us to win. It made my blood boil, I got really angry at that and I still am in a way; how do parents not notice stuff like that? How do parents not notice when they’re hurting their kids?

It was one day in September, as we watched Good Coach and Nice Coach take their teams off for a day out before the Grand Finals, when Hell Coach got us all on the side of the field. It was the first time we’d ever seen him smiling that wasn’t due to us injuring ourselves.

‘Boys, it’s been a long slog, a long season of footy. I got you a surprise for today’s training session. You’ve all been so good recently, even winning a game or two. Now, you boys ready for a surprise?’

‘YES’ we all chanted, looking at each other fearfully

‘I can’t hear you!’ he shouted, laughing slightly

‘YES!’ we yelled, now we were laughing. We smiled a bit, maybe this was it, and all the terrible training was leading to something good.

And then we heard it, tires screeching in the distance. A large black van peeled around the corner and burst through the wooden picket fence, barrelling towards us at high speed. We all screamed and ran for cover as the van bounced to a stop on the green grass. The sliding door opened and out piled a group of large burly men in black and white football jumpers.

‘Boys, this is the Collingwood Football Club and I’ve told Collingwood they get their freedom back if they win a game against you boys at any cost’ said Hell Coach and he started to laugh as Collingwood began to push us around, shoving our shoulders and saying stuff about our mums.

We filed out on the sunny grounds and the game began: Collingwood Football Club vs. Haverbrook under Tens. The ball went high up on the bounce and from that moment, Collingwood were like animals. They would do anything to win: they punched Shane unconscious and used him as a human shield, they faked injuries and threw kids like rag dolls. They were as desperate to win as we were. All I heard was Hell Coach’s roaring, booming laugh.

Finally, all my useless strength came to me. I was fast, quick, I’d spent too long being told what I couldn’t do and not enough time being something.

‘KICK IT TO ME’ I yelled and Barry punted it over before being crushed under a pile of grown men. I began to tear upwards on the field, grass lighting on fire beneath my feet as I ran. I was going to do it, I felt blood thumping in my ear, breath heavy: I was going to kick my first and only goal of the season…

Sirens blared off in the distance and we all came to a stop. Hell Coach’s smile dropped from his face and he turned to the source of the noise, and back to us.

‘See you later boys…I’ll be back for you one day’ and he jumped the fence of the school and started running down Carney Street. A long line of police cars pulled up to the school and a Channel 7 News Van arrived. Hell Coach was wanted for kidnapping, stealing, and a long line of other crimes and the cops tore off into the streets to find him.

We all sat down on the field as Collingwood was lead off to a waiting news crew.

‘He’s…gone?’ muttered Barry and I coughed. I felt angry, I had been denied my only goal of the season. I sometimes wish I’d kicked it anyway.

They never did find Hell Coach, cops are still looking for him. But I remember sitting in the sun that day, some of us all broken, some of us covered in blood and some us carrying injuries that would stay with us for the rest of our lives, but on that day we were smiling. And for the first time in a long time, we were free of Hell Coach.

– Tim, Age 44

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