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Sometimes a soccer ball is just a soccer ball. This article applies to coaches in all Coupeville sports. (Jackie Saia photo)

Back it up and keep on moving.

One of my biggest irritants on this job is watching people invade the personal space of coaches before and during games.

Whether you’re a parent, a fan, a photographer, a writer, a student not involved in that particular sport — this is not about you or me.

There are other times and places to talk to these coaches, to badger them with stupid questions about things that have no direct connection to what their job entails.

These men and women are being paid (and not enough) to coach the children of Coupeville, to build positive programs, to win.

When they are sitting on a bench, or prowling the sideline, they are scouting, they are assessing, they are planning, they are doing their damn JOB.

They do not need you, or me, or anyone, to insert ourselves into that bubble and try to chat them up.

To ask about the warmup music, or why a parent hasn’t paid for a photo, or any of a million little items which can, and should, wait for a better time.

Invariably, our coaches — as solid a group as any in the region — will choose to be polite, to endure having their concentration broken by our inane chatter.

They shouldn’t have to make that choice.

At a professional game, if you invade the coaching space prior to a game, or at halftime, you would likely be ejected by large gentlemen wearing jackets that say security.

Maybe it’s time to treat Coupeville coaches the same.

Go eat your hot dog someplace else and let our coaches concentrate.

Stop getting in their way.

And stop parking in the slots that are supposed to be theirs, on the side of the gym looking at Prairie Center.

Have to walk a little further? Good.

If you wanted the prime parking slot, you should have applied for the job.

Write your questions down, and AFTER the game, AFTER they have had an appropriate time to speak to their athletes, if they so choose, then bring your concerns and ideas and side questions to them.

Unless they have personally asked you to do it in a different manner, or at a different time.

This is NOT about us.

Not about me, or you, and the faster we all accept that, the faster we embrace that, the faster we make life easier for our coaches.

The job is already a test of even the toughest person, and changes in social media, in accessibility, in everything that makes up the modern world, makes it tougher now than it was back in say, 1952.

You can’t scream too loudly, have to make sure everyone’s feelings are taken into account.

Certainly, can’t slam player’s football-helmet-wearing heads against locker room walls, leaving behind lil’ dents which last for decades.

And simmer down, Skippy. I get that the new imposed touchy-feely days are better in a lot of ways.

I’m not calling for heads to bounce off of walls.

Maybe for all cell phones to be taken away, and for our teens to return to working on farms in between games…

Give Bow Down to Cow Town even more meaning if opposing teams arrived to find old-school commitment had swept the prairie, and “Operation: Hoosiers” was in full effect.

But anyway, this is about the life of a coach in 2023, not my desire for Brad Sherman to embrace his inner Gene Hackman.

The point, and I probably have one if I focus, is coaching is not easy.

In any era, much less today.

So have some damn appreciation for those who make the commitment that the rest of us, sitting in the stands, and wandering the sidelines, don’t make.

And stop making their job harder!

When I walk into a gym or come to a ball field, if the coach says hello, I say it back and keep on moving.

If they choose to come over and talk to me during “their time,” fine. That’s THEIR choice.

If they don’t, I’m wearing my big boy shorts, so I hitch ’em up and leave that coach alone and let them do their job and talk to them at an appropriate time.

Some of you out there need to start doing the same.

Wolves Thomas Strelow (left) and Landon Roberts are off to the state cross country meet. (Photos courtesy Elizabeth Bitting)

How fast are Coupeville High School cross country runners?

Quick enough to get a sendoff to the state meet three days before they actually depart.

Now, some will say Tuesday’s farewell was set up because parent/teacher conferences mean there won’t be any classes between now and Friday.

But we know the truth.

Coupeville sends a complete boys’ team to the big run for the first time since 1977.

One team, one dream.

Noelle Western, holding the “our sport is your sport’s punishment” sign, makes her second trip to state.

 

Live action celebrations:

 

One Whidbey, kicking everyone else’s fannies.

The three public high schools on The Rock are like siblings — they may squabble all the time amongst themselves, but someone from outside gives any of them the stink eye, it’s time to unite and drop the smack-down.

Or jointly celebrate when one does well.

Works either way.

Today the spotlight swings towards Langley, with the news South Whidbey High School varsity volleyball coach Mandy Jones has been honored by the Washington Interscholastic Activities Association.

The organization’s salute to coaches for October, sponsored by the US Army, includes the Falcon spiker guru alongside leaders from Clover Park, Renton, and Fife.

All places that wish they were Whidbey.

“I think I’ll go buy David a hot dog and a Coke!” (Jackie Saia photo)

She does it all, and she makes it look easy.

An Energizer Rabbit of a teacher who delights her young students, who greet her in public with screams of glee.

A woman who can rock the mic at soccer games — effortlessly reeling off hard-to-say-name after harder-to-say-name — while still cutting out classroom displays without missing a beat.

Or even once going outside the lines.

The woman most likely to buy me a Coke and a hot dog at games.

In other words, a saint.

Part of the trio which really runs Coupeville athletics, no matter what the titles on the office doors may say.

The only person I know to have “gone streaking,” AKA going for a run, for 1,617 days straight and counting.

Her name is Christi Messner, or, as Wolf spiker Katie Marti refers to her, “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM.”

Youngest daughter of Paul and Marilyn Messner, lil’ sister to Barbi Ford and Aimee Bishop, friend to all, she is the glue which holds Wolf Nation together.

The Mighty Messner women — (l to r) Christi Messner, Barbi Ford, Aimee Bishop — are the true power behind the throne. (Photo by JohnsPhotos.net)

I mean seriously, is there any problem Christi can’t solve?

Any room she can’t brighten up with an appearance?

I vote no, because she is the sunshine who sweeps away a foggy day on the prairie.

The slightly sarcastic straight shooter who impresses me every day.

Whether she’s rolling her eyes as her daughter sprawls across the press box table wanting to know if we all want to be in her BeReal, or being the driving force behind the car wash which got us over the line to fund the Athletic Trainer position, Christi is a quiet force of nature.

She’s a strong, independent woman raising a strong, independent daughter, but also part of a tight-knit group of like-minded Wolf Moms.

Which is probably why Katie is the same with her own pack of student/athletes.

Those are traits which come down from Christi’s mom, Marilyn, and something you can see in all the many Messner women.

Hanging out with mom. (Photo by JohnsPhotos.net)

There is a version of Cow Town sports that doesn’t include the clan, with all its offshoots and added-on family members, but that’s a version which would represent our darkest timeline.

I choose to embrace the current reality and consider Cow Town blessed to have Christi and her family in it.

And that’s why today, as she’s probably doing 10,001 things (at the same time) and keeping everything (and everyone) clicking along, I’m taking a moment to tip my bottle of Coke her way.

She might not have bought me this one, but it can symbolically stand in for all the ones she has lobbed my way.

We’re flinging open the doors of the Coupeville Sports Hall o’ Fame and inducting Christi Messner into the “Contributor” wing of our lil’ digital shrine to excellence.

After this you can find her hanging out at the top of the blog, under the Legends tab.

Or you can track her down in real life and tell her, “You’re awesome, Christi!”

Maybe even buy her a Coke of her own as you do so.

The prairie calls. (Sarah Kirkconnell photos)

A hikin’ she will go.

While I was busy burning stuff on her property — “I better not come back to cops sitting in my driveway asking why you’re using gas like our dad!!!” — my sister, Sarah, headed off Sunday to explore part of Whidbey.

She and her trail companions love nothing more than putting in miles out in nature.

My nephews?

Quite happy to camp inside the warm house, with Pepper the Suspicious Tattletale Dog occasionally eyeballing me through the window to confirm that no, I wasn’t channeling my late father by spraying leftover carpet cleaning chemicals directly on the burn pile to make happy, colored flames.

Suspicious Dog is too comfy to spy right now, but Suspicious Cat is on to your shenanigans.

Ah, the ’80s, when a man was left to his own devices when it came time to burn, baby, burn.

But anyway, this isn’t a tear-stained ode to Gen X (and our parents) being allowed to flout the laws of nature — it’s the story of a former hardcore hiker always out there looking for new adventures.

Today’s odyssey takes us to the Ebey’s Trail System, and you can read about it by popping over here:

 

Walking Ebey’s Trail System: The Full Loop Experience