In early January, I made a visit to Basalt High School for a basketball game, and as has been my custom, I quickly gravitated to the hallway outside the gymnasium where the school’s basketball trophy case is located.

The three big trophies immediately caught my eye. There they were: 1984, 1986, and 1988.  The teams and players that I often watched run up and down the court when BHS was located just across Highway 82, where the town’s middle is now housed, are represented in those large, shiny monuments to unforgettable seasons of yesteryear.

When I look past the glass and into the heart of the awards encasement, I don’t just see carved hardwood and gold trim, I see my brother on the sidelines once again, the head coach in full life, guiding the Cain Brothers, Bill Crowley, Bleau L’ Estrange, Troy Ukasick, and many other young men whose names are etched on those plaques, through seasons that would turn out to be the most memorable in Basalt basketball lore.

I always joked with my brother when his coaching career had ended, that he was like Bud Grant of the Minnesota Vikings who coached in the Super Bowl several times, but came up a bridesmaid in each one. The Longhorns too, got left at the alter in three state championship tries in the years mentioned above, but my brother was quick to point out that some coaches never even get a chance to be in the game, so he never dwelled much on those losses. He often reflected on the fact that he was forever grateful to have had such talented and dedicated boys to be at his side. Being a small part of their lives was the only championship he ever required.

Though we were as different as two brothers ever could be, I learned a lot from him about basketball and life. He never complicated his coaching very much. He just tried to build a fundamental base with his players both on the court and off of it, and then he let the kids run and be free. My brother always said the game was meant to be fun, so why not let the kids do just that; have fun and enjoy the heck out of being young and athletic.

Though I was at many Basalt games during his tenure throughout most of the decade of the 1980’s, I only attended the state title game in ’84 at the U.S. Air Force Academy when the Longhorns ran into a couple of hot guards and a well-oiled team from Holyoke. The defeat in 1986 came at the hands of Bennett High School after the Longhorns had made an improbable comeback in their semifinal encounter with Bayfield. My brother always pointed to the ’88 loss to Ignacio as the one that should have been. With a solid 8-point lead just prior to halftime, all-state guard Bleau L’Estrange suffered an ankle injury that left him unable to play the rest of the evening. Basalt had trouble with the Ignacio press after that, and a guard for the Bobcats named Sheldon Frost took the game over, sending the Longhorns home without the gold ball on board the bus once again.

I don’t know how many trips I will have left to Basalt HS in the future, but I know with each visit, where my first stop will be. I’ll look deeply and peer through that glass and see all the names of those boys who I knew well, and there will be Dicky V. again with his sport coat and tie, and his ever-present water bottle in one hand. I’ll smile at seeing him once again. I will wish we could talk like we used to.

You know, old coaches don’t ever die. They just move on to better jobs when they feel like their work in one place is finished. I know my brother’s now at his final stop, and by far, it’s the best one of all.

Glenwood Springs native Mike Vidakovich is a freelance sports writer, teacher and youth sports coach. His column appears monthly in the Post Independent and at PostIndependent.com.