Football’s lessons seen, but not heard
At school for the deaf, sports considered vital to growth
Editor’s note: The Phoenix Day School for the Deaf plays an eight-game schedule, with three games against schools for the deaf. The PDSD Roadrunners play their final game of the season tonight on the road at the California School for the Deaf in Riverside.
The sideline of a deaf school is a little different than most.
But after growing accustomed to the hushed warmups and stretching, it’s largely the same. Football is football, and Phoenix Day School for the Deaf plays the game the same way as any other 1A high school — eight on eight, on an 80yard field.
It’s not a silent sideline. There are cheerleaders, waving pom-poms to the beat of a drum. The deaf can’t hear it, but they can feel it, and it rattles like a met-
ronome throughout the game. The players clap for each other and whoop after good plays, feeding off their teammates’ energy.
Every student at PDSD is deaf, and most of the administration is, too. Athletic director Jesse Bailey, who is deaf, has spent nine years as an AD, and five of them in Arizona. Though the game is tough for his players, he says athletics and after-school activities are vital for his students’ growth.
The following are reflections from people involved in PDSD football. Each interview was spoken through a translator.
Athletic director Jesse Bailey
How do deaf players know when the whistle was blown?
After spending 20 years refereeing high-school basketball, I’ve learned that it’s a pretty simple concept.
I use my eyes.
We can see the action. A foul is a foul. A travel is a travel. And when a different referee makes the call, I can see the players stop moving, so I know the play is dead.
That was before I moved to Arizona to become the athletic director of Phoenix Day School for the Deaf.
I started my career in New Mexico, a completely different world. Most people are from small towns, and many had never even met a deaf person. They didn’t know that there was a school for the deaf. I wouldn’t say people were shocked, but there was definitely a curiosity, and other teams’ coaches were a little bit leery about working with me.
That all changed when I went to an athletic-director conference. People got to put a name to a face, I got to explain why phone calls, though perceived as more professional than a text, didn’t quite work when communicating with me.
They all preferred phone calls, for some reason.
Paul Amann, 2001 graduate
Sports was all about friendship for me.
I wanted to be with my brothers, I wanted to play together, I wanted to go to battle with them.
I started at a public school but didn’t play sports. You stand out for all the wrong reasons — well, not the wrong reasons, but you can’t sign with people, you get stared at because you’re different, and you get the question “What?” a lot.
I’m not fully deaf. I’m hard of hearing. I can hear and speak, but I prefer ASL. Both my parents are deaf, so I grew up signing, and this helped me learn English. However, when I’m trying to communicate verbally, I might miss some words or there might be a lag. It’s not a wonderful feeling.
These experiences at public school aren’t always positive, but at a school for the deaf, you see nothing but positive experiences.
On the field, we were always competitive. Sports gave us a way to learn to fight, and it absolutely helps us in the real world.
Now, I’m a history teacher and an assistant coach at PDSD. It’s my alma mater. I was born here, my blood’s here, my sweat’s here, my tears are here.
I think it’s only fair to give back.
Football is an incredible way to boost deaf players’ social abilities.
I’ve kept in touch with a bunch of my former players over my seven years of coaching. Some have gone to college, some work in blue-collar fields, others are physical therapists and mechanics. The common thread: Football helped teach them a strong work ethic beyond getting the win.
I always want to see our alumni working. I don’t think it’s typical for deaf people to collect Social Security instead, but we do experience a lot of frustrations during a job hunt. A lot of employers don’t know how to work with deaf people or hire interpreters, and we encourage students to fight through those struggles.
We teach them character and respect, and that nothing — nothing — in this world is free.
Quarterback Cesar Aranda
Communicating with ASL isn’t a curse. It can actually be helpful at times.
How often do you try to guess opponents’ signals? How often has your favorite coach been accused of trying to steal signs?
Teams constantly try to guess what we’re going to do. They’re looking at us as deaf players, trying to figure out what we’re signing and what our next move will be.
Sometimes, they’ll be right. Other times, they’ll be wrong, and we’ll pounce.
I always wanted to be a quarterback when I was a kid. I wanted to dress up in a uniform, run onto the field and lead the team.
I’m the youngest of four siblings – two brothers and two sisters. Two of my siblings are deaf. We were one of the lucky families that had parents who learned how to sign. Football is such an important tool for teaching life lessons. We work together and know that in the real world, when we’re working, we’re going to have to communicate with our team as well. We respect each other and don’t get mad — we’re going to have to do this after high school ends.
I help the players memorize plays and think on their feet. I want them to know that no matter how the game is going, we always have more time, we can always do better. No matter what happens, they can always improve themselves.
I also push my teammates in the classroom. Grades are important, and we don’t want to look bad in class. We’re the Roadrunners, and we’re excited to be playing as a deaf team. We’ve really given our heart to the team, and we want to be on fire when we go out there.
We’re never going to give up.