Skip to main content

They Call Me Coach


In double overtime we pull it out and win the game, 3-2. I am so proud of my team. When they realized the other team had only ten players, they voted that we would play with only ten as well. I asked for a starter to volunteer and sit out. One did. No complaints.

As the soccer season continues, coaching the games gets more difficult. It takes twice the time it did in the beginning of the season to come up with the starting line-up. Back in August, it was very apparent who the strong players were. Six weeks later, they have all improved so much I have so many choices of where to put people! It is my philosophy that all players should have some game time. I have never had a complaint from either the players or the parents one way or the other about playing time.

I still wonder what to do about the player who breaks out into tears at least once during practice feigning someone stepped on him or he has a cramp in his leg. However, today during the game, he got a ball in the face and shook it off. He asked to come out a couple minutes later. No complaints upon discovering half of his face was swollen. The tears came when I complimented him on being so tough and shaking it off.

Or the laziness that at one time was second nature to one of the boys. He began the season by jogging down to the field to get the ball; most times, letting the other team get to it first. Now, he is right on the front line ready to make a goal – and he has made several. We still work on his ‘boys-will-be-boys’ behavior. I believe the progress in that area will take a bit longer.

Then there is the player that began every game with, “We’re gonna lose!” and ended the game with, “I suck!” He also started fights with one of the other players on a consistent basis. After taking the advice given to him, he started with positive talk. Oftentimes when a teammate gets hurt (the one he used to fight with), he is the first person to go over and see if he is okay.

The growth of the other players comes to mind as well. The boy who gives his all at every game and waits until the last possible minute to ask for a sub because he is having an asthma attack. Or the 7th grader who quietly asks me if he will ever get to start a game. He started the next game and showed off a power foot that I had not seen before. He has started a few times since then.

The boys who made this all possible. The ones who asked me to coach. Strong players getting stronger. The numbers the opposing coaches call out to their players to be aware of. In the beginning, I learned from them. Now, they are learning from me. We laugh together whether it be about the unintentional ‘balls’ innuendoes or their jokes about jumping the fence. We talk strategy. Who should play what position. What they have learned from more experienced coaches. We enjoy all that the game brings.

I love coaching soccer. I could go on and on about each one of them. They are such wonderful young men that have taught me how much I enjoy coaching. Two more games and it is all over. I will miss them.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Aging sucks.....or does it?

Upon first thought, watching a parent age sucks. Unnoticeable at first. A bit of a stoop, some creaking in the knees, whitening of the hair. The doctor’s visits begin, as do the pills One for high blood pressure, another to thin the blood, and a handful of vitamins to top it off. The signs are there, but it is easier to see him as he has always been. My father, a pillar of strength. Until my pillar was knocked off-kilter. A simple surgery and the mortality of my father looked me square in the eye when the drugs took hold of his brain. Amidst his fidgeting and confusion, I realized…AGING SUCKS! And then….enlightenment dawned upon me….AGING IS BEAUTIFUL Wrinkles tell of smiles while silver hair speaks a life of memories. Knees creaky after years of kneeling in prayer, offering up a lap, and climbing up the stairs for one more kiss goodnight. Almost forty-eight years of memories nestled in my heart. Memories of my father. Taking us to church each Sunday Building and fixing ...

The Hardest One Yet

 From the time I began this blog, I made the conscious choice that I would be honest and open in the moment – whatever is going on. For the most part, I have done that.  After struggling about whether to write about this particular challenge (let alone share it), I chose to do the uncomfortable and do both – write and share. “Your certification has not even been processed yet. Probably won’t happen until at least the middle of January.”  I took a deep breath as I heard those words a couple weeks ago and I realized what that meant. Christmas would look very different than originally planned. The retroactive pay that Santa was counting on to make the holiday something special for our family would not be coming. I took a deep breath as I hung up the phone and walked out of my classroom, despair bombarding the hope and excitement of the upcoming holiday. A tornado of thoughts began whirling in my head as I walked to the guidance office. Playing with our budget in my ...

Letting Go

While in Pueblo you were parents of my students, but more importantly, my friends. After all, McClelland is a family. We talked, joked, and confided in each other like sisters do. I left for summer looking forward to the change I would find upon my return. That year instead of excitement, the new school year brought chastisement, accusations, and allegations with no chance to speak. People I thought of as friends chased away my exhilaration. I put a smile on my face, determination in my stride, and met the school year head on - complete with demeaning, inept, and judgmental challenges that came my way. My team one of strength, bravery and courage holding me up with each new blow. As the fall turned into winter, I overcame distrust and welcomed you in again. Smiles, laughter, and honesty filled the year. When it was time for me to move on, you sent me on my way with warm wishes and promises to keep in touch. I said goodbye and began my new adventure. Whispers of your relief abou...