The Interview
In the early spring of ‘93, David (a friend and coaching peer) got me an interview with Peter Knezic. I was nervous. We’re talking Peter Knezic, local soccer legend, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee All American and Milwaukee Wave superstar. Known for his pinpoint and deceptive passing, his nickname was Mr. Assist and the Cudahy Connector.[1] He was also the Director of Coaching for an up and coming club program. I was nervous, extremely nervous. I don’t know whether it was meeting Pete or the job opportunity. Regardless, I wanted to impress him and get my foot in the coaching door.
I rehearsed the interview several times and it always went great.
Pete: So what is your coaching philosophy Rob or should I call you Harry? (Just started the interview and already we’re on an intimate nickname basis.)
Me: Either is fine. Most people who’ve known me for a while call me Harry. My philosophy? Person first, soccer second. I love the game of soccer, but I do this because I love to teach and work with kids. Helping kids mature into responsible adults is always my number one priority.
Pete: Nice Ro… – excuse me Harry. Excellent response.
Me: No, thank you Pete. I come from a family of educators.
Pete: If you have a problem player, how do you deal with him or her?
Me: You treat people well by treating them differently. Although all players must abide by the same rules, interactions and expectations for each player vary based on personality as well as talent. I’d make sure I maintain an open line of communication and be transparent about my expectations. Again, working with kids as a person first is the name of the game.
Pete: Harry, no need to go further with this interview. You are a perfect fit. How about I start you with three teams at, say, $6,000 a team?
Me: I should think it over but, hey, what the hell, I’m saying yeah, let’s get started.
Pete: Great. Let me get you some coaching gear. I think we have some stuff that will fit you. Not sure about shoes though. You have really small feet. But, hey, you know what they say--little feet, great touch.”
Harry: So true.
I rehearsed our conversation over and over as I drove my dirty-white 1990 stick shift Plymouth Horizon, aka the Peach, to the interview. It was about 4:00 PM and traffic was pretty heavy. I left the directions at home but had a decent idea where I was going--at least I did up until I exited the freeway and wasn’t sure whether to turn left or right. Petty details my focus was on the interview.
Pete: What are your career plans?
Me: Coaching soccer. That’s it. I made that decision second semester during my senior year of college when I coached a U13 boys’ team. I’m a soccer coach.
I turned left.
Pete: You like kids, that’s the most important thing.
Me: I also worked day care in college and post college. Loved it.
Pete: Hey, I got some kids at home that could use some babysitten.’ (We share a quick and knowing chuckle here.)
My interview was going so well that when I turned onto the boulevard, I cut off a car full of teenage boys – nearly causing an accident. I waved sorry in the rearview mirror. The driver laid on the horn and his passengers stuck their heads out the window yelling something; I couldn’t make it out, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t “no problem, buddy. Thanks for the apology.” Again, I waved in the rearview mirror making it known that I knew I was in the wrong. They sped up, hugged my bumper, then darted into the lane next to me. I mouthed “I’m sorry” one last time noticing these kids were big, like Hulk Hogan big.
“Pull over you f&#%@*!g moron!” the driver screamed. Apparently, they hadn’t accepted my sincere apology and did not desire a pleasant reconciliation.
At about this time, I realized I was driving the wrong direction. I glanced over at my new friends, offered one last wave, and did what anyone on their way to a youth soccer coaching interview might do. I flipped them the bird and spun Peach in a quick U-turn to rid myself of those self-righteous unforgiving ingrates. Hey, I apologized, they didn’t accept it, so they got the response they deserved. I glanced in my rearview mirror and – what the hell! – their car swerved across the lane and executed its own rally car U-turn, slipping up behind me inches from my bumper.
My thoughts about how the interview would play out were skewing a little different now.
I’m screwed. Only six blocks away. I’ll pull into office parking lot with a carload of angry teenagers behind me. I’ll jump out of the car and run for the door but, sure as shit, they’ll catch me and commence with a severe ass-kicking.
Pete will hear the commotion and step outside,
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“This asshole almost killed us and then gave us the finger,” they’ll politely explain convey between punches to my skull.
“Oh, you’re givin’ him the Cudahy stomp .”
Or maybe he’ll say, “Boys, boys, wait a minute, I have something to say.” They’ll pause for a moment. Battered and bloody I’ll look up at Pete who will say, “Sorry, Rob, but the position has been filled.”
I approached a stoplight, the kids still sitting on my bumper. The light was green. I slowed. The stoplight went to yellow. I slowed a bit more and when the light turned red, I gunned it though the intersection, leaving the kids behind. I sped to the office, parked between two vans, and ran into the building, sweaty, flustered, flummoxed, and floundering. I glanced back at the door expecting a pack of teenage boys to ambush me at any minute.
I was dripping sweat. “Do you want some water?” Pete kindly offered. “It must be getting really hot out there.”
A scotch on the rocks would be nice, I was thinking. “Sure, I’d love some water thanks.”
“So you would like to coach with us, huh?”
I coughed, a little water going down the wrong pipe. “Yes, I’d love to,” I sputtered.
“Then why don’t you come to practice on Monday at 5:00.”
“I’ll be there.”
And that was it. Now bring on the youth of America, I said to myself as I stepped warily outside, slipped into Peach and took an alternative route home.
[1] Cudahy is a blue collar city adjacent to South Milwaukee. It’s famous for its Cudahy brand meats, professional wrestler “The Crusher”, it’s large polish population and Peter Knezic.
