In February of 1968, I was an 18 year-old in the thrones of senioritis and a member of a very average high school basketball team at Wilber-Clatonia High School. Our coach was Don Zeiss. He was a good coach that tried about anything that would coax a win out of a bunch of average athletes.
The most memorable ploy was a Saturday trip to Milford High School on a Saturday night. We had been embarrassed by some team on Friday and Coach had to try something dramatic. He walked into our locker room before we were to begin our warm-ups. Coach Zeiss, with proper emphasis, told us we were un-coachable. He told us if our goal was to drive him out of coaching, we had succeeded. Continue reading