HAZELWOOD: As opposing coaches, brothers show why family matters

NORWALK — The moment wasn't when I expected it. Though the game was predicted and expected by many for months, and in some instances, years, the 48 hours between it becoming official and tip-off Saturday night was about shifting the focus. David and Chris Sheldon did a very good job of that. They both acknowledged the obvious. They are the oldest of five sons of Ohio High School Basketball Coaches Association Hall of Famer Rob Sheldon (450 wins). With more than 600 wins between them at Colonel Crawford and Western Reserve, both are successful in their own right. Yes, their two teams were finally meeting in the tournament with a Division III district championship on the line at Norwalk High School. But both were quick to point out it was about the talented and players on the floor beforehand. And frankly, their players proved that. When you get two teams that were a combined 46-1, and just two weeks prior were ranked No. 1-2 in the Associated Press state poll — the expectation is an epic game. Certainly no one is disputing that after the Eagles' stunning comeback in the final minute of a 53-51 win over the Roughriders on Saturday in a packed NHS gymnasium. But I had wondered the day before and the day of the game when a particular moment was going to come. At some point, both coaches were going to have to let their guard down and acknowledge the obvious. No, it wasn't the brief conversation and smiles during pregame warmups. We know all coaches do that as a customary sign of respect in most sports. Instead, it came at the end of the national anthem. Paige Sheldon, the 10-year-old daughter of David, stood at center court in front of about 2,000 people — and she's performed in front of a much larger crowd than that — and sang the anthem very well. When she was done, as the crowd gave its collective approval, David went over first and gave his daughter a high-five. Seconds later, Chris was there to do the same with his niece. And both walked back to their benches with smiles of satisfaction. "Paige loves to sing and is in a lot of music-related things," Chris said. "She's done it down there for their home games and other places. Isn't she great? We asked her to do it and everyone here (at Norwalk) helped make it happen." That's just an uncle talking about his niece, who he's watched grow up and seen at countless family gatherings. That was pretty obvious given the comments came 15 minutes after the game, which one could debate was maybe the toughest loss of Chris Sheldon's 20 years as the head coach at Western. His team had lost a 17-point lead in the fourth quarter. Even further, they were still up nine points with 90 seconds left — and lost the game. It was every difficult adjective you want to use. Crushing. Sickening. A punch to the stomach — or anywhere else for that matter. Yet Chris was quick to shower his niece with praise. Because family matters to him. At the other end of the court, it was also why David Sheldon couldn't keep it together. Sure, he was thrilled for his kids who he's obviously grown close to over the years. No one wants it to end after daily practices and games in the gym for four straight months, plus the offseason. But he couldn't keep his emotions in check — not because of his team's incredible comeback. It was because family matters to him. "We're moving on, but it's bittersweet for me," David said as he began to choke up. "Chris is the best. He's my best friend and I'm happy for these guys, because I love these guys right here … but I love those Western kids, too. I've grown up with them, and I just know that feeling." While his players took turns cutting down the net in celebration, unsolicited, David went on to note that it was Chris who came to Crawford last summer. He spent an hour putting in his offense he ran a year ago when he had two 1,000-point scorers in Luke Rowlinson and John Skrada. "And that's what we've done all year with (Carter) Valentine and (Mason) Studer," Dave said. "My brother is a great coach. What we do is from Chris and what we stole from him. "I'm happy for our guys and our community, but it's just tough to talk about this, I'm going to be honest." When the game ended, as Jude Muenz missed a last-ditch three-pointer for Western, he collapsed to the floor. Muenz had played a fantastic game — and in my eyes was the best player in the building that night. As he sat on the floor with his head bowed to his knees, Muenz was inconsolable. Anyone who has ever worn a sports uniform and forced to take it off in such a difficult and unexpected fashion knows exactly how he felt in that moment. Several of Muenz's teammates were finally able to get him to his feet, and then charging toward him was a young man in street clothes. Almost no one in that moment knew the feeling better than Muenz's older brother, Jacob. He held his sibling in a long hug and offered words of encouragement before he went to shake hands with Crawford players. Jacob Muenz lost a tough district title game against Huron as a senior in 2013 as a player for Chris Sheldon. He knew what his brother was going through. It was another brief moment of family being at the forefront. While the medals were being distributed to both teams, Chris Sheldon sat on the bench, staring ahead blankly. His six-year old daughter, Jordan, sat on the chair to his left. His nine-year-old son, Sebastian, and wife Kimberli, were behind them. When David Sheldon was called up to get his medal, Chris shook out of his blank stare to politely clap. And then Paige took center court again. David sent her out to get the medal, then made a beeline to Chris on the bench, who he pulled up for a quick hug. He then patted Muenz and a couple others on the head and walked back toward the Crawford bench while wiping tears from his eyes. "Seeing my brother at the end … it's tough," David said. "I love that guy. It's tough. We talk every day. We step between the lines, it's our players. But before the game, everyone brought it up … it's about these kids, not us. "And then after the game to see him sitting there … it's tough. I don't have much to say. It's too hard." It was an interesting contrast. David was unable to hide how difficult it was. And while not entirely unexpected as someone who's done these interviews with him for 20 years, Chris instead had one-liners. "When the ball went up in the air, none of it was on my mind," Chris said. "Me and my brother have been fighting, battling and clawing … the only time he's beaten me in the last 20 years is two nights on the basketball floor. "All of those 478 rounds of golf, he can't touch me. So if I have to give him two wins out of 480 … I'll let it be in front of a lot of people and let him feel good about himself for one night." All jokes aside, the family tone struck a chord with me. You see, while Paige Sheldon was singing the national anthem, my 14-year-old daughter, Chloe, was across town on stage singing in the St. Paul High School "Children of Eden" musical. I had long ago figured on being unable to attend her Saturday night performance, assuming either Western Reserve or Willard was going to be in that game — and that I would have no help to staff said game. But then I had given up my ticket to Friday night's show so her godmother, one of my sister-in-laws, could attend. Suddenly during Paige's singing, all kinds of questions came into my head. Had I made a mistake? How was she doing? After months of practice, was she ready to be on stage with high schoolers? Those thoughts got washed away over the course of the next two hours. Not only because it was one of the greatest high school games in one of the best atmospheres I've been involved in — but because of seeing the family interactions. I was at Chloe's musical on Sunday. Much like David Sheldon, now I was the one getting choked up while watching my pride and joy sing in a solo position while owning her performance up on stage. Chris Sheldon was able to find solace and positive moments the night before while talking about his family in the immediate aftermath of a crushing defeat. Also being honest, these last few weeks on the job haven't been great on my end. Add on my wife Megan's job as a elementary teacher, plus some long nights of homework and musical practice with my daughter, and some nights were downright difficult. All in 24 hours, I saw friendly reminders and examples of how invested we become in certain things — but never enough to lose sight of family being most important. "My brother is a hell of a coach and does a great job," Chris said. "It does almost feel like the older brother duped his little brother. There were a lot of times growing up where it felt like he was about to let me win, then he ripped my heart out at the end and sent me back to the house crying. "Thankfully, I'm 43 and I know it's just a game now. It's a game that has been great to our family. It's something we invest a tremendous amount of time in, and come Wednesday, I'll be the biggest Eagles fan there is. "But it's still just a game, and we're still the same family we were before tonight."