RETRO: farwell, coach leo

For those of you who didn’t know already, I am at home in the good ol’ burbs of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I was going to have a special end of the school year blog where I talked about the film and all the crazy shite that has been going on in the past few weeks. I still will during all my free time over break. But I had to rush home a little early because my grandfather, Albert “Bert” Leo, died on Sunday. He was 88. I crammed in my last two scripts and headed off on Wednesday.

Last night we had a viewing in the old gym where he used to coach youth league basketball. For many years, this was his hobby. He even reffed a few games here and there in the Mid-Penn Conference (the areas around Harrisburg). Today, we had a funeral at the church he went to for 50 some years and coached. We chose the gym because a few years ago, they renamed the court after him for all his service. The Bert Leo court services youth league (CYO, ages ?-12) at St. Teresa’s parish outside Harrisburg, PA. It was he who first introduced me to all things sporting, and also my brother, who in turn helped influence me. He was the one who took me up to Penn State’s colossal Beaver Stadium to see the Nittany Lions play back before I really knew what football was. His love was passed on to me and my brother. He didn’t favor many pro teams besides the Yankees (don’t ask me why, he never lived in New York) but his dedication
on the college and school level was unmatched. We buried him in his Penn State tie, and wanted to play the fight song as he left the church (that was shot down. Wait till they see my will.)

So all the stuff I’ve written about Penn State and the NBA came from him. A lot of it was initially watching my older brother, but of course he got everything from Bert. I always felt bad, even though he loved and supported me generously, that I couldn’t be the pro athlete he dreamed off having in the family. And it was basketball, the game he knew so well, that I loved the most and wanted to do so well in. Football was a fallback because they didn’t have cuts. My brother at least played one year of varsity ball. I couldn’t even get close. Fat people tend to have a hard time at this sport, if you didn’t notice. Especially if they’re not unbelievably tall or coordinated. He never put any pressure on me to do well, and he came to watch me play three meaningless minutes at the end of a football game we were winning by 40 points and cheered me on, which I really loved. My parents also never put any pressure on me, choosing academics, which was a good choice because I was a billion times better at that (not that I claim to be any genius, I just suck that much by comparison at all things that require movement). But anyway, that’s where my passion comes from.

I could still take him in the Name Which College This NBA Player Went To game, nailing such hard choices as Chris Childs (Boise State) and Mario Elie (American International). We had those lazy days, after Christmas dinner on the porch, watching NBC’s forced rivalry pairings. And that will be my fondest memory of him. Many of his former players came to see him today, still thinking of practices when they were only 12 years old and he made them hit the court like Red Auerbach (complete with stogie). They all loved and respected him. We all did.

He was always generous with kids, and he gave us plenty of time and affection. Though I knew his time was nigh, I’m not going to get over this for a while. I said many a tribute and praise to him today, and I’ll continue to do so forever. He was a great man. That’s all I can say. I will miss him dearly, especially January 3rd.