I had the honor - and sadistic satisfaction - of roasting my high school baseball coach, Jamie Fowler, this weekend. With nearly 20 years of material to work with, here are the words I so kindly wrote for him:
With so many stories, oh where should we begin,
A berating in the outfield or a forced run in the gym,
I guess it should start with Fowler’s first Panther bout,
Hired to teach science, of which he knew nothing about,
My own first encounter sure left me aghast,
“Who the hell is this guy? And why’s he such an ass?”
He coached us 7th graders and was strict as can be,
We had to polish our cleats and ask permission to pee,
The very next year, he took on a new quest,
We 8th grade boys really put him to the test,
With respect levels low and our confidence high,
Our middle school minds were anything but shy,
We were quick to make fun of anything in sight,
There was zero hesitation to bring up one’s height,
But Fowler stood tall and made it clear,
That he was the boss, ruling with fear,
When high school started, freshmen were in for a shock,
We were swinging big time with batting stance cocks,
He taught us terms that made our mouths callused,
From hitting the pink to disrobing Alice,
Whipping us into shape, he didn’t mess around,
Running our asses ragged all about town,
From Harrison Hills to triangle runs,
Fowler conditioning could be oh-so-fun,
We’d board the bus rocking with Tenacious D,
Rides to the games were filled with glee,
On the road, traditions were passed to us newbs,
Learning to make signs that read, “Show us your boobs,”
Whether in the dugout or out on the field,
You better show class or wrath he would wield,
Don’t walk anywhere or dare miss a sign,
‘cause Fowler will ream you and make you ride pine,
Though most times were great, some times were hard,
Leaving many of us wanting to kick him in the nards,
After a disastrous defeat, we were marched to right field,
Where he inflicted mental damage that still hasn’t healed,
But Nate Koch had had enough and expressed his reproach,
“Man, fuck you Fowler, I want a real coach!”
It would be irresponsible and I’d be totally remiss,
Without acknowledging the king of getting Fowler pissed,
With shenanigans galore, my hat’s off to Jeff,
It’s a miracle that coach has some sanity left,
But in 2004, his team’s talents amassed,
And we Panther league champs beat some Knight ass,
All-Conference and All-State, his rosters were loaded,
He fought for his guys to get awards noted,
My senior regional, we almost won it all,
Despite me playing with only one ball,
And though we lost, the memory won’t diminish,
The way that we battled with a balls-out finish
Though at times, your style was hard to swallow,
There was no other leader that we’d choose to follow,
You left an impression that will forever remain,
Showing with hard work, much can be gained,
You lead us to victory more often than not,
And left us with a pride that cannot be bought,
After so many years I still follow along and cheer,
When you won state, I chugged a shot and a beer,
You’re a master of the game, and taught us all well,
Despite all those times we muttered “Oh, go to hell!”
The last 20 years has sure been a trip,
That’s more than 400 games with you as the skip,
And no matter how many years pass or new journeys approach,
Jamie Fowler will forever be our coach.