Like so many others, I had the privilege of getting to know Ron through swimming and water polo. The Murphy family swam with the original Aquabears, played club water polo, and competed in high school water polo and swimming at Campolindo.
I was in a unique position. I only played for Ron one year in high school—my freshman year—before he moved on to Acalanes. But in true Ron fashion, and probably to no surprise to anyone reading this, he never stopped being my coach. From behind the scenes, Ron continued to mentor me. He went out of his way to introduce me to college coaches whenever he had the chance and helped guide me through the decision to play in college.
When I learned that Ron was being inducted into the Water Polo Hall of Fame, I knew I had to be there. A few of my high school teammates felt the same and joined me at the ceremony. These were players Ron had reluctantly left behind at Campolindo. It didn’t matter. With no disrespect to the coaches who came after him, Ron was our coach—even if he was technically at Acalanes.
After my own playing career ended, I moved into coaching. I spent several years coaching with Ron at the club level and against him at the high school level. Those experiences are some of the most meaningful memories I have. Ron taught me how to prepare, how to work hard, and how to think ahead. I still use those lessons every day. He also had a very unique—and often hilarious—way of teaching, and those stories are legendary.
However, I want to share one from a more recent time. Not long ago, I decided to join a masters water polo team. For those who know me, you’ll appreciate that I haven’t been in the water for 35 years and could definitely stand to lose some weight. My first practice did not go well, and I honestly thought I wouldn’t come back.
One of my former athletes convinced me to return the following week. He told me I needed to stop playing water polo the way I used to and just focus on getting some exercise and have fun. So, I came back.
During that next practice, the ball turned over, and the player I was guarding took off on a counterattack. Instinct kicked in—and then reality. Underwater, I literally yelled, “F‑off, Ron. I’m not chasing him down. I’m just trying to get some exercise.”
It worked. I casually swam to the other end of the pool and didn’t worry about the guy I was guarding, and I truly believe Ron would be happy knowing I’m enjoying the game again, but probably laughing at me at the same time.
I miss you, Coach.
Rest in peace.