Coach Sieg

Athletes from UALR's track teams were spread across Verizon Arena in North Little Rock. Rock hadn't been in the facility since the winter and spring of 2009 when he covered the Arkansas Twisters' final season of arena football and had wandered in through the back bay door just to look around.
Rock's attention was drawn first by two young men as they sprinted above him, each on two translucent six-inch-wide strips of plastic, stretched six inches apart, fifteen feet above the floor of the facility.
Before he could find anyone to ask about this anomaly, he heard a familiar voice.
"Hey, Rock. How've you been?"
Rock turned to see a man he immediately recognized as the last of the Twisters' head coaches.
"Hey Coach, I'm fine," Rock said. "It's good to see you again, man."
Typical of this experience, common now in the twilight of Rock's long career as a sportswriter, here was another of the thousands of coaches or athletes from his experience whose names he could not remember, at least not immediately. He dug deep, and quickly, to remember this man's last name was perhaps Siegfried. Yes. He had called him Coach Sieg.
"Same here, Rock. Do you still write for the paper?"
"I do, Coach Sieg. How about you? What are you doing these days?"
"For the time being, not much," he said. "In fact, I'm looking for work. Do you know if the Twisters have an opening?"
"Coach. Didn't you know? The Twisters haven't played since your last season here, you know, whenever that was, ten years ago."