Miller Bugliari Memory Book - Page 7

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What I remember about Mr. Bugliari--even though I played only freshman soccer and had only a little interaction with him--was that he was always sure to say hi when passing in the halls, sometimes surprising me by using my name.  Even when I visited after a year away at college, he wanted to hear about what I would be up to that summer.  He just seems genuinely interested.

Drew Blacker '05

I had just finished my Freshman year at Pingry.  I wasn't sure precisely what made Pingry Soccer what it was and had only a vague awareness of who Coach B was.  I had gotten some sense of the greatness of Pingry soccer from watching the Pingry state prep finals against Lawrenceville the year before, where if I recall correctly, the school bused us in to support our team in its successful bid for the state championship.  Of course, I was also aware of the success of the team in general -- year after year of incredible records and state and county titles. While my picture of Coach B and Pingry soccer was more a vague familiarity than a acute awareness, there was nonetheless something incredibly attractive to me about becoming a part of something that I had a sense was truly great. 

That spring, I decided to sign myself up for a summer of the Pingry equivalent of working in the coal mines: 10 weeks of soccer camp, five of which would be at the Puma camp, which was known for boot camp-like training regimen.  On the field at 6 am for Soccernastics ("Soccernastys")  -- with a square-jawed 50-something year-old Austrian named Hubie Volgelsinger leading the charge -- and in bed at 10 pm after watching soccer movies for an hour.

This was a particularly difficult time in my life as my parents had just gotten through an ugly divorce. Nature abhors a vacuum and there was certainly a vacuum of mentorship in my life.  Despite being a reasonably capable student, I had been unable for any of my short academic career to achieve grades better than a mix of B's and C's and, for any of my fellow students or my teachers reading this, you will understand what I mean when I say that I had a tendency toward the disruptive. . .

The first soccer camp that I attended that summer was the Puma camp in Lawrenceville, which Coach B was administrating.  As Coach tells it, I had good speed, but had not yet fully realized my potential as a player.  I would play the nightly games at camp and held my own, but was by no means a standout.  Each night I would look to see if Coach were there hoping to make an impression.   Every night he was there, watching silently on the sidelines toggling back and forth between the game on my field and the adjacent field on which his son Anthony was playing. 

Each night after the game, he would at least say hello and every now and again would offer some advice -- "you've got good speed, but don't diddle with the ball too much" (a phrase that would later become a standard refrain).  However, one night, I was late coming off the field on my way back to the dorm room. I don't really recall why.  I may have stayed late to practice extra or may simply have been goofing off, but when I left the field, there was Coach.  Unlike the other nights where he had simply given me a "hello" or a sentence of friendly advice, this time he appeared to be waiting for me. 

I got nervous.

He stopped me and spoke deliberately and in a very quiet voice as if he were sharing with me a very important secret.  He told me that I had good speed and nice ball skills, but that I had to learn to stop diddling (there it was again).  Importantly, he informed me that, while I had some developing to do, because of the commitment that I demonstrated by signing up for ten weeks of camp, he was inviting me to go to Bermuda with the Varsity team.  He was careful to tell me that this didn't mean that I was on the Varsity team and that, if the financial pressures of the trip were too much, I didn't have to go, but I was nonetheless invited.

I don't really remember my feet hitting the ground as I sprinted the 3/4 mile back to the dorms to tell Anthony and his classmate Mark Donohue about my conversation with Coach, but I never remember feeling better.  I sprinted up the stairs of the dorm to tell them.  I couldn't believe it!  Part of the feeling was derived from knowing that I not only had a very real chance to be part of something truly great, but from knowing that I had a chance to be part of Pingry soccer as a sophomore, a true honor.  Much more importantly, my excitement was derived from learning the most important lesson in my life, the greatest gift of many incredible gifts that Coach B has given to me: that merely showing a willingness to work hard (let alone actually working hard) could help me to achieve my dreams.  I hadn't even attended these camps, I hadn't yet learned what I was going to learn at these camps and I certainly hadn't become the player that I hoped to become, but simply by showing a commitment to the game, simply by demonstrating a willingness to work hard, I would be rewarded for my efforts.

My invitation from Coach B on that warm summer night almost 20 years ago (wow!) was one of those key moments in my life when the whole world changed. Coach B had not merely given me the gift of a trip to Bermuda and the possibility of joining the Varsity squad, but had given me the most important lesson of my life:  hard work pays off.  This ultimately translated from the field, where I made the Varsity squad, to the classroom, where my grades steadily improved.  I ultimately got into the college of my choice, the grad school of my choice, the law school of my choice and got the job of my dreams all because I learned from Coach B that hard work will be rewarded.  For this, I believe I owe any success I have achieved in my life to Coach B.

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