I grew up without a father. That’s why when I found out my hockey team was going to be coached by a dude with a DUI working off his community service requirement, I was pumped. If Disney taught me one thing, drunk drivers forced to work with children make great surrogate father figures. Well, whoever wrote that movie never met Coach Anders.
First off, this motherfucker still drinks. A lot. He shows up to practice noticeably drunk, and I don’t know what he’s got in that Gatorade bottle, but it sure isn’t Gatorade because he leaves practice way drunker. Just about the only feat of athleticism he’s taught us so far is how to dodge his Honda Civic when he recklessly barrels out of the parking lot.
When we started this season we were a ragtag group of misfits who could barely skate, let alone play hockey. Under Coach Anders’ tutelage, we’ve become a ragtag group of misfits who can’t play hockey that is often yelled at. Quack?
The only thing this guy does that even comes close to Gordon Bombay is he hits on our moms. All of our moms. There isn’t a single player on the team whose mom hasn’t been asked to “discuss Tim’s skating over diner some evening” and none of us are named “Tim.”
One time Coach Anders tied us all together in a bunch with a big rope in the middle of the ice. I thought it was a team-building exercise to teach us to skate as one, but apparently, he was just hungover and needed some “goddam peace and quiet.” He fucked off to a nearby pub and just left us there for 2 hours.
I thought maybe he turned a corner last week when he halted drills and told us all to bring it in. I remember thinking “This is it, this is where Coach is gonna give us the heartfelt speech that whips us into shape and turns this once failing hockey team into a make-shift family.” He took a good long look at the lot of us and said “My community service requirement has been fulfilled, smell ya later.” No one has seen him since. Fuck Disney.