Brian Zalasky

January 9, 2009
Non-Fiction Narrative
The Skipper
"Zalinski!" That's what Skip called me. Even though he was off by a couple of letters,
you had to give him credit for even attempting the Polish name. I mean he at least had the right
number of syllables. And he said them with such confidence and gusto it didn't much matter to
him (or me or my fellow plebes on his Elizabethtown College soccer team) whether he
pronounced our names correctly. With twenty-five years of coaching experience at his alma
mater, some 400 odd wins, countless Mid-Atlantic Conference championships, seventeen NCAA
tournament appearances, nine regional and national final appearances, and a national
championship (and not to mention thirty-three former players coaching at the collegiate level)
crowding his resume, Skip earns your respect just by inviting you to pre-season tryouts. So him
even trying my name was bliss in itself.
Few coaches in the NCAA can match his career over the last quarter century; the
archetypal manager, Arthur "Skip" Roderick ranks fifteenth all-time in total wins (the only coach
with less than thirty-one years experience in the top twenty-five) and thirteenth all-time in
winning percentage in NCAA history just behind Bruce Arena, former coach of the University of
Virginia and two-time World Cup U.S. National team coach.
In addition to all of this, Skip was a good player in his day. His day was the 1970s and
included stints with English football clubs Everton and Brentford, the Irish club team Sligo
Rovers (with whom he won a League of Ireland Championship in '76), as well as a season with
the Philadelphia Atoms of the forlorn and ill-fated North American Soccer League (NASL).
Quite impressive, though not everyone thought he was a skilled player. Skip was once
described in the Irish newspaper, Sligo Weekender, as a "striker with a difference... the only thing
worse than his first touch [on the ball] was his second touch," adding, "[Sligo Rover's season]
was going so well that he got precious few chances to display his 'skills'." This would explain his

abbreviated tenure with the aforementioned clubs; he stayed with each club for at most one
season, often leaving before a season's conclusion. One could ask, if he lacked such required skill
to play at the level of the British professional leagues how did Skip manage to rise above his hohum talents?
Well, his athletic build could partially explain it. All told, Skip stands close to 6'2". A
formidable specimen during his college years, Yearbook photos show him dressed in
Elizabethtowns blue and gray with a ball at his feet and long, golden Robert Plant-ish hair down
to his shoulders. (Oddly, pictures of Skip in his college years are in short supply. If one was to
search Elizabethtowns High Library he would find that his class picture and many athletic photos
of him have been suspiciously cut out of several Conestogan issues circa 1970-74.) Skips
expansive shoulders top off a torso that once looked defined but now has noticeably melted over
the belt buckle. Like the defined torso, his hair made a disappearing act all its own. But his legs
however are different. His legs remain the toned sinewy hills, valleys and plateaus visible in the
few Yearbook images. From all accounts, he had speed in those legs but towing his large frame
caused problems. If I may, using his own parlance, Skip probably was a 'donkey' due to his lack
of grace on the pitch and awkwardly able to power past, over and through defenders legally or
illegally.
But his physical make-up couldn't solely account for his successful career on and off the
field. No, Skip's personality is contagious as well as advantageous in and out of the soccer world.
It's a personality as unique as his career. Few can compare. Extremely passionate and emotional,
Skip elevates expectations for his players to sometimes unrealistic levels, but that doesn't stop
him from demanding results. During games this is certainly prevalent, but seems almost
exaggerated during training. On one occasion, at Saturday morning training, Skip was not happy
with how we practiced our corner kick plays. He mumbled loud enough for everyone to hear, "We
suck. No one can hit a freakin' corner. What a nightmare! Just shit." Even louder, Skip yelled to
the assistant coach, "Get Zach the hell out of there! He's having a shitter! Zach don't take another

kick!" Mind you, we were ten minutes into 8:00 a.m. practice in early November and hadnt had a
warm up run or stretch. Zach disobeyed and hit a curling ball across the goalkeepers box that
was side volleyed into the net from twenty yards out. Skip immediately screamed in delight, fell
to the ground face first and began thrusting his hips. "Oh, baby! Ooooh, baby!" he rose, "Practice
is over! I need to go home and see Lois!" He walked off the field and presumably went home to
his wife. And that was that. To say the least, he's a leader who wears his emotions on his sleeve
and has never been shy about, well, anything.
Skip is the most outrageously outgoing person I've ever met. The confidence with which
he hollered my name that first of day of preseason is how he talks to potential recruits, their
parents, children in his summer camps, other coaches, students who dont play for his team, the
cashier at local Turkey Hill convenience store, even his boss, the College President. Thought
before speech isn't something he practices. It is this spontaneity that makes him so attractive to
everyone. As a result, one wouldn't necessarily label him a gentleman. When talking to a recruit's
father who just so happens to be bald Skip will point to his own head and say, "I like your barber"
followed by an abridged laugh that anyone who doesn't know him may think he has some mucous
near the top of his throat he's trying to release; his smile is the only indication that everything is
okay. He's a man who can tell you after you score two goals in game but probably should have
had a third that "you could have had the first hat-trick in the Roderick era. But you didn't. You
suck," and then refer to you as a "player whose enthusiasm and pride for the program is to be
envied" with a fathers amorous inflection and tears in his eyes. He cares for his players like he
cares for his wife and twin daughters; coach and father are synonymous.
Skip's nomenclature for his fellow man is 'baby,' which he says through a grin that
stretches from ear to ear, his emerald eyes gleaming. And he prefers that you address him as Skip,
or Baby, or the Skipper if you're not into pithiness, just so long as you never call him Coach
Roderick. Skip is the essence of 1970s rock and roll: informal, high energy, repeatedly
inappropriate, often imitated (ask any of his former players) but never duplicated. One can tell he

is conscious of his static position in the '70s; Political Correctness is something he is aware of,
but the irony is that he lacks any correctness when he attempts to be 'PC.' For example, after I
graduated from Elizabethtown and finished playing for Skip I became a counselor for
undergraduate admissions we discussed a recruit's application. Skip reasoned, "Come on now.
The kid's a great player, decent academically, and he's... uh, um... black, African..." he leaned in
closer and whispered, "he's African-American."
"Skip, his name is Javier Alvarado."
"Oh, he's Hispanic then. Good. Even better, right?" Even at this gross ignorance, you
have to smile and shrug. Its just Skip. His absurdity is matched only by his verve. Over the past
seven years I still find myself eager to sit down with Skip for nothing more than to just breathe in
the vigor that pours out of him. And over that time he finds its best to not try and pronounce my
name, but rather, stick to the brevity thing and just call me Z.