Ed Daniels, in 1965, when he played for coach Nick Balitsos.

Ed Daniels, in 1965, when he played for coach Nick Balitsos. Credit: Patricia Daniels

I was a little surprised when I heard my old varsity football coach, Nick Balitsos, was nominated for Nassau County High School Athletics Hall of Fame. I played for Coach B on Levittown Memorial High School's varsity football team in the 1964 and 1965 seasons. Those teams were energetic and well coached, but not very good record-wise. We won only five games, lost eight and tied three times those two seasons — and no coach gets into a Hall of Fame with those numbers.

But when Coach B's overall record is considered, the Hall beckons. Newsday confirms he had 159 varsity wins coaching for Levittown Memorial and General Douglas MacArthur high schools, tying him at the 21st spot for most victories ever among Long Island football coaches. Clearly, he had some pretty good seasons before and after I played for him.

Coach B was an excellent coach, for sure. He knew his Xs and Os. But better, he had a special way of relating to his players, displaying a quality German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche called being “all too human.” He wasn’t perfect, but he admitted the mistakes he made and owned them, and this made him all the more authentic to me.  

Coach B could be tough. I earned his displeasure many times, and he had no qualms letting me know it. But he never talked down to me, and he never disrespected me. For Coach B, it was all about the sin, never the sinner.  As I respected this, I played harder; I never wanted to disappoint him. I know other players felt this way, too.

Like all great coaches, he had a passion for the game. And he badly wanted to win. But he seemed to always understand the essential distinction between winning football games at any cost and modeling the behavior that helped teenage boys grow into good men.

In my junior year, we had won only one of our first four games when we traveled to play Lynbrook, a team we were expected beat. I knew Coach B wanted to win this game desperately. We all did.

But we didn’t play as well as we could have and it took a miraculous last-ditch effort to squeeze out a tie, something one of our coaches derisively said was like kissing your sister.

After the game, Coach B held his frustration in check, but we all knew the dam might break with the least provocation. Quietly, we showered, dressed and headed for the team bus.

When I boarded, the only seat open was in the second row, right behind where Coach B and one of his assistants were sitting. I slid in as unobtrusively as I could and sat down quietly next to Al Graham, a burly lineman who had a reputation saying unusual things at inopportune times.

We rode in silent disappointment. Then the silence was broken. In horror, I watched Al lean forward, lift his head close to Coach B’s ear, and, alluding to the halftime show, say "At least the band was good.”

I braced for the explosion that never came. Coach B turned and stared at Al. Then a perceptive smile crossed his face. Then a chuckle. He understood that football, while his lifeblood, was only a game and his players, like himself, were “all too human,” too. He said nothing and the smile still visible, turned to his assistant and began to strategize for next week’s game.

As an adult, I once told Coach B, who died in 2012, that he had the greatest influence on me of anyone, save my parents, during my high school years. I still believe this, more than half a century later. I hope Coach B is accepted into the Hall of Fame; the honor is well-deserved.

Ed Daniels,
Levittown

SUBSCRIBE

Unlimited Digital AccessOnly 25¢for 6 months

ACT NOWSALE ENDS SOON | CANCEL ANYTIME