Coach's corner: The garage is empty of things but remains full of memories

After 25 years, we are moving out of our Glenview home; a sad moment in time for sure.

It is an experience, by the way, that I wouldn't recommend to anyone. I am not breaking new ground here by telling you moving is extremely stressful.

But it's particularly tough when one part of the marriage wants to save everything for sentimental reasons, and the other half (my hand raised; insert smiley face here) is ready to discard, destruct, annihilate, blow up or do whatever it takes to get rid of most everything that hasn't been touched in the last five years.

Suffice it to say, the whole process is a test of the marriage, as well as one's own mental sanity. Both survived, but there were definitely times when the outcome was in doubt.

One thing I discovered, though, while going through the garage and other hidden, long since forgotten spaces, is how surprised I was by the unique emotional attachment that I had to some of our sports equipment.

Memories were made with these things. Good times, bad times, fun times, intense times.

These artifacts of both game and recreation are all symbols of the often tremendous effort, passion, blood, sweat, tears and energy that went into these various sporting experiences.

Sorting and getting rid of them was much harder than I thought.

There were, in fact, different categories of sentimental attachment.

I would rate on the low end of the "hate to say goodbye" list items such as my orange cone markers, reversible practice jerseys, trophies, plaques, ice skates, gym shoes, cleats, hockey sticks, and maybe the multitude of colored Frisbees found at the bottom of our "sports box."

Giving away those items? Not so hard.

My level two, or midlevel "hate to say goodbyes," would include tennis rackets, bicycles, scooters, soccer balls, softballs, baseballs, golf balls, orange thrown-down bases, footballs, and the backyard badminton set we were all so excited to get - but collecting dust turned out to be its greatest value.

Have to admit, it hurt a little bit giving away all of those. But not too bad. Once gone, easily forgotten.

The level three items? The ones that were really painful to clear out and say goodbye to? All three basketballs I still had; those were near and dear to me. Basketball has always been my favorite sport. While some head to yoga, Pilates or other meditation type experiences, for me, just shooting baskets by myself in the driveway has been therapy enough.

In fact, many a "Coach's Corner" column idea has been fruitfully implanted with seeds of beginnings while watching one of my rare swishes go through the hoop.

Others in my level-three-painful-to-give-away category were my softball bats, and my longtime - LONGTIME - baseball mitt, Ron Santo autographed ... so really longtimed. That was particularly tough to say goodbye to, but, I figured, why keep a mitt? My kids are long done playing catch, and the way they are going in the post-pandemic dating world, me playing catch with any grandchildren down the road might be waaaaaaay down the road. So, goodbye, mitt, and, yes, I truly will miss you.

A couple of surprising items in the tough-to-say-goodbye column? Believe it or not, my go-to wide base black plastic snow shovel. Not really a sporting goods item, I know, but it did provide me much-needed exercise during the cold winter months. Make no mistake: The older I get the more I dislike the frigid temperatures, but I always kind of enjoyed the art of shoveling.

Another underrated level three item was my electric ball inflater. Something about that thing always brought my testosterone level up a couple notches. Best $34.95 I ever spent. Just the loud sound of reverberation as that baby blew air and brought back to life so many deflated, and otherwise no longer useful, sporting balls and toys. A real lifesaver many times. And, in a pinch, could even inflate a suddenly low car tire.

Goodbye my trusted friend.

There were items I kept: Pickle ball rackets and the Bocce Ball set. All very popular with the senior circuit of which I am, against my will, rapidly descending into. Also, my bowling ball I sneaked out when I worked post-college at Herman Sporting Goods (if you are reading this and old enough to remember Herman's? Well, let's just say you're old enough). I don't bowl much, but when I do, that has been my baby for 42 years.

One category I have not mentioned yet is the "more than happy to get rid of" category. This would feature my golf clubs. I stopped playing the game about seven years ago and found it to be remarkably invigorating to do so. I solved my bad golf game by simply stopping playing, and it has been one of my greatest success stories. No worries, no frustration, more time, more money, increased mental sanity and improved cardiovascular and stress reports from my physician.

Dumping the golf clubs, and thus leaving behind any temptation to be drawn back out onto the course, was a strangely pleasurable moment.

So here we are now. The garage stands eerily empty, free of the detritus that once "decorated" it. The various equipment that was used so many times, and often without much thought or feeling, completely vacated.

What they say is true: Sometimes you never really miss something until it is taken away. Almost all of it now has been taken away. An empty garage is all that is left.

Empty, yes, but filled with so many wonderful memories.

• Jon Cohn of Glenview is a coach, retired PE teacher, sports official and prep sports fan. To contact him with comments or story ideas, email jcsportsandtees@aol.com.