Coach

The Life of a Youth Soccer Coach (Tick Tick Boom)

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I know ISIS has beheaded two American journalists, and that these fundamentalist fucktards are now a serious threat to America and Europe. Russia’s Vladimir Putin is suffering from a mid-life crisis, which most guys deal with by purchasing a sports car or becoming familiar with a pretty, young Kremlin intern, but Putin scratches his fear of mortality by invading nations.

Obama has a lot to worry about, but I have my own shit to contend with today. I need to develop a practice plan for a Boys U-10 soccer team. U-10 translates into a bunch of easily bored eight- and nine-year-olds, who like to play tag and dodge ball more than they like to play soccer.

When I volunteered to “help out”, I never envisioned that I would have to do research on how to run a practice but soccer has become a tad more complicated than when I played at the same age. I was more concerned about getting the right number of oranges for a team snack than I was about developing a practice plan.

Being conscientious, I started watching videos demonstrating practice drills that had been rehearsed multiple times for our viewing pleasure by suburban white boys with tidy haircuts. And then I strayed into strategy and tactics, where I read posts describing the perfect formation for 6 v. 6 and this got the competitive juices flowing. I had decided on a 3-2 formation, because my team would be able to take advantage of 1 v. 1 match-ups offensively, My central defender would anchor the defense and the two fullbacks would move forward individually, when it was available, to provide support for crosses into the box. The sweet taste of victory hung in the air waiting for Luis Suarez to take a bite out of it.

Luis Suarez

At our first practice, Coach Dave quickly realized that any talk of strategy would have to be tabled. The drills I had researched were going to improve their skills, but none of the boys appeared to be all that jacked to practice two-touch passing or then move on to one-touch passing. Any drill with tag or freeze in its name was preferred to anything resembling a well-researched soccer drill.

Fortunately, I had done further research on “fun games” for the kids, which involved me running around after balls and narrowly avoiding the colossal pile of fresh dog excrement near one of our game targets. If I saw the motherfucker who didn’t pick up his dog’s hazmat pile of shit, I would have thrown it at him and his dog. I’ve always thought that if a person experienced an irate, crazy mofo, who picked up dog shit with his bare hands and threw a Russell Wilson shit spiral into their face, the asshole would never forget his or her doggie doo-doo bag again.

I’m hopping over dog shit. I’m sweating. I’m trying to keep an accurate record of the score. The kids are moving closer and closer to the targets to gain a competitive advantage over their opponents. I’m stressed out, because I have never coached soccer and I suck at the game. I have been a dismal failure at this game for my entire life, which includes being unceremoniously cut from my high school’s freshman soccer team, and now I am the Drew Carey of youth soccer. Come on down!

Ronda Rousey and an admiring Joe Rogan 

The kids then want to scrimmage, so I play for one of the sides who is short a player. A few minutes into the scrimmage, I clock a kid in the right eye with my left hand, as I make a strong Giorgio Chinaglia striker move in the box. The kid goes down like a Ronda Rousey UFC opponent, but I resist the opportunity to trash-talk his weak ass. (Actually, the kid went down briefly and then jumped up and got back into the fray.) As one of the kids said, “The coach hit him.”

Yep, the coach hit him. Maybe I should concentrate on passing the ball to my teammates and staying out of the penalty area with my Giorgio Chinaglia arsenal of offensive moves. My team lost, but I made the winning team run sprints to know the pain required of victory. Nah, I didn’t do that, but it’s not a bad thought for today’s practice.

Giorgio Chinaglia of the New York Cosmos 

Today’s practice is going to feel like playing soccer in a Hawaiian lava field with piles of dog shit scattered all about. I will run off a few pounds. Coach kids on a game that I lack any talent for, but when has talent ever stopped a committed American? I’ll make these boys into a winning juggernaut – not kidding about that – and life will get a little less stressful after tomorrow’s away match.

That’s if we win. If we lose, I’ll be at the computer seeking to find how I create a soccer juggernaut from the fragile minds and bodies of young boys. Uh … no coach was able to do anything with me on a soccer field, but I have a good feeling these boys are a lot more talented than a young, sunburnt Sheridan.

Coaching Youth Baseball

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My summer engagement as a youth baseball coach ended last night. We won a few games, the boys sported shirts that resembled tents used by Barnum and I realized that I enjoy winning a lot more than losing. I also came to the rapid conclusion that the ten-year-old and younger boys had the same attitude towards winning and losing. They liked to win. And they really didn’t like to lose.

When did our society get stuck on it’s all about having fun? When is losing fun?

I did lose my virginity, and that was definitely fun.

If I lost my wife to the next-door neighbor with the orange Hummer. That would not be fun.

The cat is lost. Depends on whether you like cats on how depressing that might be.

I lost my car keys. Always a frustrating and maddening experience that makes a person question one’s mental make-up and the possible advance of dementia.

Losing blows. Unless you are an NBA squad that is tanking the regular season in search of the next LeBron James. We instruct our kids to succeed in school, we applaud Tiger Moms, we look for the best possible summer camp, and then we mouth fake platitudes about having fun and it’s not about always winning. The kids aren’t buying it. They see their parents compete at work, try to bake the perfect cupcakes to complement their perfectly barbecued steak tips, have a landscape crew come in and create topiary artwork on their lawns, and then their parents mouth some pablum about having fun when success is not achieved. Kids understand when their parents are being disingenuous.

 

Topiary Artwork

 

I will freely admit to wanting my team to win. The kids were a lot easier to deal with when our team was winning than when they were watching their opponents run around the bases like migrating gazelle. When losing, bickering occurred on the field. Tears flowed at the prospect of a loss. And after one loss, there was this declarative sentence used by one of the older boys, “We suck.”

I tried to remind my young charges that the best major league baseball team will lose over sixty games this year, but they’re not listening to what I’m trying to sell. These kids didn’t want to hear that losing builds character. Character is something they watch on the Disney Channel and not linked to personal pride or conduct. These kids wanted to trash-talk in the handshake line, which is in some ways funny at that age, but also a jolt to the senses. The trash-talking was squashed, but Seattle Seahawks defensive back Richard Sherman is arguably the most celebrated defensive player in the NFL – and one of its greatest trash-talkers. Kids learn from what society celebrates.

 

 Hardball fans talking trash.

 

Will I coach again? Probably. I’ve got the bug, which doesn’t surprise me all that much. After our final game, I was in a fugue lamenting the end of summer ball and the encroaching end of summer. It felt like the season had only just started and its conclusion was far too soon.

The kids were fun and difficult, they were accepting and challenging, and they were sometimes good sports and sometimes excellent trash-talkers. Sign me up for a coaching trip to Williamsport in 2018.

Now a dose of “Suck It Up!” motivation from former Boston College and NFL linebacker Tom McManus.