“Get out there! Get in the game!” I would hear my father shout from the living room chair on a Sunday afternoon.

“He’s an armchair coach!” my mother would point and whisper.

It’s baseball season! Any armchair coaches in here?

All through growing up, I always heard my mother say that about my father, as he yelled at the team to do this or that and growled under his breath when they messed up a play.

“I wonder how they’ve gotten along without you!” she would quip.

Our town neighborhood alone had about 20 Sunday afternoon “armchair coaches.” But when it came time that the local school team was looking for a coach, suddenly, all of those “armchair” coaches were nowhere to be found. “I can’t do that,” they all said, slinking back to their comfortable living room chairs. Bravado is easy. St…