SACCO: The best parting shot of them all

Jim Critzer got the best of both worlds.

He resigned with class and, by doing so, thumbed his nose at all the haters that filled those boxes of negativity he still keeps at the old homestead.

You remember, don’t you Giantdom? Four years ago, in the midst of a start-to-the-season slump in his first year at the helm, the salty, old ball coach called out his players in this very newspaper.

Nothing personal. He never mentioned any names or alluded to which position the guys played. All Critzer did was tell us that he was tired of the lollygagging, he was tired of a group of kids not taking the program seriously and he was going to do everything in his power to fix it.

We’re paraphrasing here. Critzer, of course, added to the statement a few drops of that Tabasco he keeps stored under his nose.

Then came the e-mails, phone calls and letters to the editor calling for Critzer’s head. They asked us to stop talking to this coach. A Waynesboro graduate in Tennessee offered his services to the school after hearing from a few friends still in the area how Critzer dealt with the kids.

Sorry, but treating a high school student like a man or woman instead of toying with their emotions by not telling them anything (Hello, Fort Defiance, you listening?) is not a bad thing. It’s a life lesson.

Heck, Critzer confided after that first season that he seriously thought about hanging it up and saying “to heck with it,” despite leading the Little Giants to the Region II promised land, despite coming a glove-lace away from beating Turner Ashby in the Valley District title game. (Remember that almost-was grand slam that sailed just to the left of the left-field foul pole in Bridgewater?)

A lot of folks called Critzer classless. Never heard that from his players, though. Alas, thus is high school sports: The kids just try to work their butts off to get a trophy and the adults (for the most part) do their best to ruin a coach’s grand plan.

As he left, Critzer could have told those “fans” and parents (you know, supposed “adults”) where they could have gone. He could have told them where to stick their thoughts and all those letters he’s kept — including that card slapped on his vehicle when it was parked out at the KC during that first season.

The card, and letters, that told him, “That I couldn’t coach worth a lick,” he said.

The card, and letters, that called him, “Every [name] in the book.”

Instead, Critzer took the high road this week. An unusual step from a gruff, old guy from the East Side of town who managed to make something out of himself despite not going to college. (Our society’s reliance on putting kids in debt for 30 years in order “to become something,” is a whole other column, however.)

Critzer wanted to thank Athletic Director Mel Morris for giving him the shot and listening to his demands.

“Mel has had my back the entire time,” Critzer said. “He did what he could and he always listened and tried to make things work.”

The same goes for Superintendent of Schools Robin Crowder, Critzer said.

He asked for a lot; he didn’t get everything. But, as incoming Waynesboro Principal Tim Teachey said Monday, “That’s what good coaches do.”

Teachey should know, having been one of those good coaches when he trolled the boys basketball sidelines. Teachey also knows what it’s like to be one of those players — still recognized around town these days as that smallish kid with the killer jumper.

No doubt Critzer was a pain in the butt to deal with if you’re a school administrator. But what’s worse, a coach who asks for too much or a coach that doesn’t ask for anything at all?

It is, and correct us if we’re wrong, about the kids. Right?

In the end, that’s what Critzer was all about. How else can you explain the game-day breakfasts he bought the players? Or the four new bats he paid for out of his pocket the day before the Group AA semifinal earlier this month? Or the check he offered to write Jennifer Brown, mother of Waynesboro athletes Steven, La’Shanda and Devon, to cover the costs of her kidney transplant?

In the end, the guy who admitted he was from the wrong side of the tracks spent four years doing something he never thought was possible.

“Never dreamed in my life I’d be coaching high school baseball,” Critzer said.

Just think, four years ago you wanted him gone midway through a season.

In the end, Critzer ultimately gave those fans what they wanted — he’s leaving. And the back-to-back Group AA Final Four berths were the only parting shots he needed to fire.