Football

This entry was posted on a sunday, despite being back dated. it’s about my experience of coaching U13 football.

“MOVE!”

“REMEMBER YOUR POSITIONS!”

“DON’T WALK, RUN!”

Such are the things I shout on a typical Sunday morning.

I coach an under thirteen all boys football team, which just happens to include my son. Tuesday nights during summer, and Thursday nights during winter, I assist the team coach in charging around after the boys in training, practicing passing, drilling them on good practice, and generally exhausting myself. That’s just training sessions.

On Sunday mornings we play matches.

As of the time of writing we have played three, with one incredible win, and two disappointing losses.

The losses hit me harder than I realise. This week in particular; we could have won if the boys stuck to their positions and avoiding running around like crazed hornets after the ball; much shouting has been the persona I have adopted on the touchline and it’s a bad one.

Shouting never makes a game better. It just makes it worse.

It also makes me miserable at the end of the session; instead of encouraging them, I’m yelling.

Generally I am disappointed in myself. It would be easy to point the finger at the boys, but they are 13 years old. They are just learning how to navigate the complex friendships and relationships they are building up, while being soaked in hormones and being asked by a relative stranger to adopt strategies that they are struggling to understand in the heat of the game.

If they fail, it’s on me.

If this were LinkedIn I would try and translate this to some form of management speak about learning and coaching, but I can’t - I just don’t have the energy.

What I do recall from these sessions is my commitment to doing better, and showing up.

We coach for free. We give up our time for free. We demand a lot from teenage boys, and asking them to show up and get stuck in, time after time, is a big challenge to meet for them - and I have to show that I can be trusted and relied upon.

So, as long as I’m not yelling at boys unnecessarily, and I do explain what I’m trying to do, my frustration is my own and my determination to do better must be measured by the results I deliver at every session.

As long as the boys keep delivering and showing up, and I can throttle my drive to make things work always the way I want it to, then I will be able to be proud of myself.

It’s worth it. It’s hard work, but worth it.

Back next week.

On time, this time.