James: “Hey Oliver, what’s up?”
Oliver: “I’m sorry, James. Did I wake you again?”
James: “No. What’s up?”
Oliver: “I was thinking of you today—drove by your old job and recalled that you got me some pussy there one time, set me up with that girl whose name I can’t remember.”
James: “You mean you were wondering if she still works there?”
Oliver/James: laughter
James: “Tia, her name was Tia, a deli clerk, thin, light-skinned, no weave, hard worker, positive personality, spoke English, left us in O-nine, about two years after I introduced you two. I left July fifth, O-ten.”
Oliver: “Wow, your mind is amazing—you didn’t even fuck her and can remember her name?”
James: “Well, I was her boss, so couldn’t do the honors and figured I should reward her in some way. Glad you two hit it off. The way she smiled at me after that, I figured you treated her right.”
Oliver: “Thanks, she was real nice. We even became friends, but lost touch.”
James: “So what are you doing today?”
Oliver: “Not much, now. What about you?”
James: “Charles is beating my ass at twelve, at PMMA.”
Oliver: “Wouldn’t miss that for the world, James. I’ll be there.”
Two and a half hours later, having both been beaten up by Charles, Oliver and I were hitting each other with rattan rods.
That is about the level of planning that most young men who are intended by God to impose their will on other men in physical confrontations, devote to planning their day.
If you are a coach, you need to get used to that and be ready to craft a learning experience for these knuckleheads when they emerge from the chaos of their lives for another look at the blue print to putting it on the opponent.
