Duncan Cole

About the Job

Duncan was born in the Central Valley and raised in a family that treated football like religion. His father worked in the crop fields and cheered on Friday nights; discipline and effort were a household currency. Duncan was a standout linebacker in high school. He earned a small-college scholarship, dreaming of becoming a pro until a knee injury in his junior year stripped him of that life. Because of that, he pivoted to coaching almost instinctively–first as a graduate assistant, then as an assistant at a Bay Area high school. By his late twenties, he had built a reputation for “old-school fundamentals”-early practices, precise drills, no shortcuts. He married young, hoping stability would follow, but long hours coaching and an obsessive drive for perfection strained the relationship. He got divorced in his late thirties and now he can only get visits from his daughter on the weekends, but now she has moved out of the state. The team became his surrogate family and the field his sanctuary. Throughout many decades, Duncan collected small glories that filled a hole in his heart: regional titles, players who went on college rosters, plaques in the school hallway. Each medal tucked in his drawer is a reminder that his sacrifices meant something. Yet, as the sport modernized and younger coaches brought analytics and social media swagger, Duncan clung harder to tradition–whistles, sprints, and lake runs in the afternoon. His identity blurred with his role. “Coach Cole” became who he was, not just what he did. Now, in his early fifties, watching students drift away and new talent looks elsewhere, he feels the shadow of irrelevance slowly creeping in. Matt, once his most promising player, represents both pride and the uneasiness that the next generation no longer shares his determination for the game. Calling Matt in for “one last drill” is Duncan’s way of trying to get him back–a plea for legacy, before the echoes around Lake Merced fade for good.