Joel A. says: Memories of coach off the field have made lasting impression

High school football coaches are measured in wins.

And titles. Winning a state championship can make a man larger than life.

My high school football coach was a legend.

Jim Brinker spent 19 years as the head coach at Stanley-Boyd. My junior year was his final season.

With Brinker at the helm, the Orioles won 142 games, nine conference titles, made the playoffs 15 times and won two state championships.

No wonder he's a member of the Wisconsin Football Coaches Association Hall of Fame.

But the wins don't stick out as much as the times he drove me home.

My dad worked two jobs. My mom had five kids to handle.

Because both parents were burning their candles at both ends, I didn't always have a ride home from practice during training camp.

At least until coach Brinker saw me stepping onto my bike to pedal home.

"Throw the bike in the back of the truck," he'd say. "I'll take you home."

Seems like such a small gesture, but I could have made it home on the bike.

And I wasn't an irreplaceable star player, either. At that time I was just a scrawny sophomore middle linebacker who had no shot at the field that season.

Brinker simply couldn't stand the idea that I had to ride home alone.

He always hated to see kids sitting by themselves.

Like a lot of high school football coaches, Brinker doubled as one of Stanley-Boyd's gym teachers.

Some coaches only pay attention to their athletes. Brinker spent most of his time in class talking to the kids who weren't popular, weren't star pupils and were never going to touch the field.

Bet those kids are better off today.

By the time I reached my junior year, I had grown enough to start at outside linebacker. I suffered a concussion in my second game as a starter.

Brinker made me stay at the school for an hour. Called my parents and explained the situation, then told them to make sure I didn't fall asleep too fast.

And on Monday he forced me to go back to the trainer, who told me I had to sit out the next game.

At the time I was mad. I worked hard for that spot. I wanted to play.

Looking back on the situation now, I can thank Brinker my brain's working right now.

A couple of weeks later we played one of the conference's bottom-feeders. Should've won by four touchdowns.

We played with our brains on autopilot.

We won the game, but we made a ton of mistakes, especially on defense.

And the coaches let us have it in the film room on Monday.

Back then, I was one of those kids who took every criticism to heart. And the more we watched that film, the more I started to wonder how I was ever going to keep my job.

At least until Brinker called me into his office the next day.

"It sounded like you were getting down on yourself yesterday, but you have to realize that we weren't faulting you for lack of effort," Brinker told me. "You can only do so much with what you have."

Brinker was right. I was a 5-foot-10, 170-pound outside linebacker in a smashmouth conference. Sometimes I was beaten by superior size.

But I would have tried to run through a brick wall for that man.

At the end of the season Brinker told us he was retiring. Losses hurt too much these days, he said. His kids were starting to play sports themselves, he said, and he wanted to watch their games.

Wish he'd waited one more year.

Stanley-Boyd hired a fellow Hall of Famer to replace Brinker for my senior season. He only lasted one year. He didn't have Brinker's ability to motivate.

Because Brinker understood something most coaches miss.

Coaching high school football - or any sport, for that matter - doesn't start at Xs and Os. Coaching starts with the kids.

Good high school football coaches are measured in wins.

Great coaches are measured by the lasting impact they have on their kids.