How a Small-Town Soccer Coach Built a Eucalyptus-Scented Empire
It started small, the way most bad ideas do. Coach Martin was well-liked, ran Saturday drills without complaint, and swore by a few drops of eucalyptus oil before every game. At first it was a quirk—he’d rub it on the goalposts, wave it under the noses of nervous kids, even mist the field before kickoff. When the team went undefeated one season, parents credited “the power of the leaf.”
Soon, every booster meeting smelled like a spa. Bottles appeared in gift baskets, raffle prizes, and teacher appreciation packages. Coach Martin claimed the oil could ward off colds, improve concentration, and “keep the bugs away without pesticides.” By spring, a quarter of the town had signed up as “Eucalyptus Ambassadors,” each required to purchase bulk starter kits of essential oils, pamphlets, and branded diffusers.
The scheme spread faster than the flu it was supposed to cure. Garages filled with unopened cases, school fundraisers turned into oil showcases, and one desperate family even tried to bake eucalyptus muffins. “They tasted like cough drops,” said a former distributor, “but we had to move the product somehow.”
The empire finally collapsed after a shipment of mislabeled bottles arrived—peppermint instead of eucalyptus—sparking refund demands Coach Martin couldn’t meet. He quietly resigned, leaving behind a town that still reeks faintly of camphor and regret.
Today, residents slip bottles into yard sales, holiday stockings, and church raffles. “We’ll be smelling this mistake for years,” one local muttered, tucking three unopened bottles back into her pantry.
From The Biscuit.