A boy on my street started football in August. I went to watch practice. The coach arrived at four fifty. He came straight from work. Work boots. A company shirt with his name stitched on it. Dale. Heating and cooling. He ran practice for two hours in those boots. I asked a father who appointed this man. He said, "Nobody did." I asked what the position pays. He said, "It's not a job." I waited for the rest of the sentence. There was no rest of the sentence. I asked how long the term lasts. He said, "Till he quits." There is no appointment. There is only a man who keeps showing up. In my country a leader is handed a seal and a term. He is given a superior who may remove him. Here a leader is handed a bag of cones. They let me carry the bag once. It weighs more than my armor. I wanted the bag. I counted his work. He corrected nineteen boys. He tied six cleats. He said "good job" forty one times. He said it loudest to the boy who fell down. I wished to submit a letter of commendation. There is no office. So I said it to his face. I said, "Sir, permit me to formally recognize your service to this district." He said, "It's just practice." I asked how many seasons he has done this. A woman beside me said, "Couple years." I wanted to ask him why he keeps coming back for free. I did not ask. A man should not have to explain why he shows up. Dale's son played on this field. His son finished in 2019. He has coached six seasons since then for other people's boys. Nobody has ever brought it up. It has never come up because it is not a topic. Last Tuesday I carried the cones out before he arrived. Nobody assigned me either.