This guy taught history at my high school, and was inducted into the National Lacrosse Hall of Fame my junior year. Strangely (for a guy with his lax credentials), he coached girls' soccer, and left the lacrosse coaching to a bumbling idiot who taught us to lose and little else.
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But he played in the student-teacher lacrosse game at the end of the school year (in the Baltimore area, as on Long Island, lacrosse is a cradle sport the way baseball and football are in other parts of the country; the image of lax as a prep-school thing may be true outside of these hotbeds, but every public school in my county had a team, and kids signed up for Hero's summer leagues more than for Pop Warner). Most of the teachers had little choice but to let us kids score, since we were young, fast, and practiced, and many of them hadn't picked up a stick since last year's game. But the teachers' team always won.

Jack Thomas would get the ball and just walk down the field with it, striding loosely with his old-school wooden stick with its uncontoured head (every stick-head today has hips to keep the ball in the pocket and an elongated top, increasing ball speed and accuracy), rolling around or bulling through any kid who stepped up to defend him. I played crease defense, and I recall one of the goals he scored (I saw it upside-down) after he faked me off my feet with a face dodge (a face dodge, can you believe it! Off my feet!).

I was just thinking about halls of fame, and how generally amazing hall-of-famers have to be to get in, how much you have to love the sport to be inducted. Maybe that's why Jack Thomas coached soccer; he knew how frustrating it was to coach a bunch of slackers like us. Too bad, though. We coulda really used his savvy against Mount Hebron.