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Ever since I was old enough to stay up late to watch all three periods of a Toronto Maple Leafs hockey game there has been one burning question that has never been answered to my satisfaction. OK, before we go any further, I should make clear that this particular question is not limited to hockey. In fact it is something of an oddity in all professional team sports. And I must confess that it’s all really quite trivial, to the extent that I’m somewhat embarrassed to even bring it up, but I’m certain we will all sleep a whole lot better once we have an answer.
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Here’s the scoop: I have never understood why the coach’s wardrobe varies as widely as it does from sport to sport. And this peculiarity exists and endures with no definitive explanation or rationale for the individual choices made. Hey, I can’t help it. This confounds me and as part of a decades-long commitment to therapy, my analyst suggests that I share these thoughts with readers so as to avoid wasting his valuable time with such foolishness.
Okay, back to the business of haute couture in the wacky world of anabolic steroids. Perhaps the most bizarre example is the hockey coach, who has always seemed strangely out of place, dressed in a well-tailored business suit, while pacing behind the player’s bench, screaming obscenities at a team of sweaty jocks, all sporting colourful (often bloodstained) jerseys, padded short-pants, long woolen stockings and ice-skates. C’mon, you must admit that this is all just a bit ridiculous.
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Our next stop is the dugout, where the head baseball coach is known as the manager.
He and his crew of assistants suit-up exactly like the players – all too often providing a little comic relief as many of the more rotund coaches appear to have been humiliatingly stuffed into the form-fitting polyester, perhaps with the expectation that they will resemble an actual ballplayer. That said, the decision to dress in a baseball uniform as opposed to a suit and fancy leather shoes certainly seems sensible enough considering the dugout floor is a virtual minefield as a result of the time-honoured tradition of horking tobacco juice and sunflower seeds. By the second inning, the dugout floor has become a giant spittoon.
From the boys of summer we move back indoors to analyze those who instruct the dribbling giants of the basketball court. Setting aside the fact that nearly everyone connected with the NBA is a whole lot taller than the rest of society, the fashion code here is almost identical to hockey; the coach resplendent in Armani…while his squad of lanky dribblers zip around the court in short pants.
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It seems the only sport where the outfits makes any sense at all is pro football. Here the coaches wear team jackets or sweats, often embroidered with the team logo. An element of slapstick is introduced when the game is played in freezing weather forcing the gridiron coaches cover up on the sidelines in giant parkas, overstuffed mittens, and colourful toques. Incredibly they will always make room for a headset.
Okay, that’s all for now.
I am exceedingly grateful to have had this opportunity to express my unending befuddlement with these oddball fashion choices. Yet after all these years, I am forced to admit that I will never understand the justification or motivation. I suppose I just needed to vent. I shall cancel this week’s therapy session at once.
I wasn’t sure what to wear anyway.
Terry serves up a little food-for-thought each week and welcomes your comments: countrysunshine@xplornet.ca
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