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Now I'm imagining the jackass coach standing in the showers, angrily trying to scrub the failure off himself with a brillo pad, howling unintelligible curse words in between muffled sobs. He's wearing a swimsuit, I'm not sure if that's because he's hiding something (which would explain his hyper-competitive nature) or if it's because I really just don't feel the need to envision him naked. I'll stop talking now. Good story though.
On a completely unrelated tangent, you need some hooligans, maybe even an organized firm. That would be freaking sweet.
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