The whistle blew and our much anticipated season was seconds from beginning. Body armor was in place, new blue uniforms looked fabulous, and cleats had been checked by the referee at midfield where he gave them final instructions on the freshly cropped, late summer pitch. We quickly reviewed our game plan, assumed our positions and got ready for kickoff. This was my personal coaching debut. I was a little nervous, but mostly excited for a great new season.
As the Red team kicked the ball off, one of their forwards took the pass, and with the determined face of a warrior, broad shoulders of a gladiator, and the resolve of an M1 Abrams tank, single-footedly dribbled through our first, second, and third lines of defense, then teed up the ball and kicked it through the back of the net while my Blue team looked on in shock, unmoved from their opening positions.
Goooooooooooooooallll!
Those little girls were good. I looked at my watch. Only 16 seconds had transpired. My rosy outlook changed as I realized that this could be a very long game. I swallowed. Heck, this could be a very long season! What had I signed up for?
I gathered my Blue troops and instructed them. And bless their hearts, those little Blues ran faster and tried harder than I had ever seen! But time and again, the Reds stole the ball and dribbled and passed their way through our defense and put the ball into the back of the net. At one point as we were walking back to our positions after yet another goal, Makayla said, “Coach? I think this is going to be a lot more difficult than we thought it was going to be.”
At one pivotal point in the game as we were finally advancing the ball and were on the verge of scoring our own goal, our right forward approached me and raised her hand and said, “Coach? Can you tie my shoe?” Then, to my horror, I looked back at our defensive line, and 3 little girls were sitting in the grass, laughing, and throwing blades of grass into the air, having the time of their lives, completely oblivious to the expressionless, machined Reds who were once again stealing the ball and dribbling down the field and scoring yet another goal. Only rubbing salt in the wound, the ringleader of our picnic defense was my own little girl who was laughing with delight. It was humiliating.
Coach? I think this is going to be a lot more difficult than we thought it was going to be.
– Makayla, 7 years old.
I had hoped for a perfect season, a season of highlights, a season to never forget. I wanted to win league Coach of the Year honors. 16 seconds into the season and all that was out the window. But to my defense:
- We were out-manned from the beginning. Err, uh, we were out-girled from the beginning! Of our 12 girls on the roster, only 7 were there for kickoff. The Reds had 12 players there. 9 on the field, and 3 substitutes. They were a well-oiled, focused, disciplined machine. Like a Russian Olympic hockey team, they would constantly substitute waves of 3 girls with fresh legs every few minutes. Like the ocean, the relentless waves just kept coming and coming, beating our little substitution and rest deprived Blues down mercilessly.
- Sponsorship. We got the roster from the city recreation center. And to the left was a column where all twelve 6-7 year old girls names were listed. To the right, there were 2 columns that said “Willing to Coach?” and “Willing to Assist?” And all the way down, “No, No, No, No, No” were checked. Until my little girl’s name. “Yes, Yes.” There you have it. Who were our sponsors? Who was going to help us succeed? Outside of practice, who was preparing our little girls for the game? I imagined that the Reds roster probably required mandatory parental coaching sessions with speed and agility and skills minimum requirements to be met in order to suit up for game day. What were my girls’ parents doing? Apparently, nothing.
Mercifully, 40 minutes later they blew the whistle again and the game was over. We got shut out. We didn’t score once. They scored a dozen times. I walked to our sideline, soaking in sweat and embarrassment, and unable to look anyone in the eye. We got in the car where I finally felt safe to vent to my wife. She tried to reassure me. “Your team is the kind of team they make MOVIES out of!”
Ouch. We were that bad, huh?
As we left the field, I told my little girl that we were going to practice together every day that week. My wife said that that was one of the best things she’d heard me say in a long, long time.
Later in the day, I was alone in the car with my little girl. I had been going over game film in my head all day, trying to construct a successful plan for our little 6-7 year old girls. I remembered our co-ed team from a year ago. The coach’s little boy was the star of the team. The coach’s little boy was fast. The coach’s little boy knew how to dribble, how to pass, how to score. The coach’s little boy was awesome. The coach’s little boy. Maybe the secret wasn’t the coach’s little boy, but the coach.
So, I said to my little girl, “What was the hardest part of the game today?” Maybe, I thought, at our next practice we could focus on passing or dribbling.
My little girl replied, “The hardest part of today’s game was getting the ball and putting it into our goal.”
For a 6 year old, that was a pretty astute analysis. She got right to the root of the problem. She nailed it. That pretty much summed up our team and the challenges we’d face going forward.
Then she added, “We didn’t score any goals today.”
Ouch. I really did want those little girls to have a good experience. In reality, probably even more than I wanted to be Coach of the Year, I wanted them to have success. I wanted them to have fun. I wanted them to win. I thought for a minute and said, “Do you know what? I’m going to work really hard to be a better coach for you girls!”
And without skipping a beat, my beautiful little girl replied, “But daddy, you already are a GREAT coach!”
Her criteria for a coach were obviously different than mine. For me it was about wins and losses. For her, her coach was her daddy, and her coach was……. Well, before I get too carried away with myself, I need to remember that she was the one rolling around in the grass laughing! But maybe I did meet some of the criteria for at least being a good coach.
And what about our sponsors? What about the parents? Do you know what? They signed their girls up for rec soccer! Good for them! Their siblings are playing with them, and we have great parents. And I signed up to be the coach. And we’re going to figure this thing out this season!
(As I write this blog post, the league doesn’t keep score or track records (they say the focus should be on having fun blah blah blah), but we currently sit at the midpoint of the season with 3 wins, and 2 losses. Not too shabby. More details on our movie-script Cinderella season to come!)