"Come on, hurry up, we are going to be late!"
"Dad! I am not going to wear those shorts. I want to wear these!"
I look at my 9 year old son in amazement. He wants to wear pajama bottoms to play soccer.
"No way. They have rules against pajama bottoms. The rules say you have to wear shorts to play soccer."
This is made up. Trickery is the only tool left that gets the job done quickly. I no longer scorn the Machiavellian 'means to an end', and resort many times to 'whatever it takes'.
The field is a 10 minute drive across town. We arrive at a brown field under a hazy blue sky. The sky makes me sleepy. Yesterday I e-mailed a group of strangers, telling them I'd be at this field at this time, wearing an orange baseball cap. Many of these strangers start walking up to me, introducing themselves and telling their sons to listen to what I say. I am the soccer coach.
The boys gather in a circle around me. I sometimes get nervous speaking in front of groups. But this is different. They are all my son's age and have the attention span of a monkey. They stare at me blankly for a few seconds as I introduce myself. Then I throw the ball to one and ask him to tell us his name and one thing he likes to do.
"I'm Isaac and I like video games."
This draws a laugh from the group.
"I'm Sam and I also like video games."
End tally: six like video games, three love video games, two like food and one likes the piano. If this were Lord of the Flies, I can tell who Piggy would be.
I break them up into groups and have them kick the ball. Most of them start kicking it at a fence.
"Hey, kick it to each other."
"The fence is better, it doesn't miss."
I can see that this is no group of dummies.
Game time arrives and we get the boys out onto the field. They stand around, not sure what to do with themselves. They awkwardly look at one another, then look off into the distance at the high white clouds. Suddenly a soccer ball appears, a whistle blows and the other team starts marching down the field to our goal. Our goalie stands open-mouthed, arms hanging limp at his side. Then a switch is suddenly flipped - the boys start running, yelling like cave men, chasing the ball.
Like an instinct kicks in.
The game unfolds over the course of an hour. Back and forth across the field the boys run. Skills are sharpened. Passes become harder and straighter, yells more confident and strident. Standout players emerge.
The team is gelling.
The game ends with a win. Two goals for our team, none for the opposing team.
"Alright guys, good game, way to play as a team. Let's form a line and congratulate the Lions. They played hard."
"Yeah but we played better!"
"Yeah, the energy chews really helped!"
"Go Grizzlies!"
The game over, I walk across the field with Isaac to our car. He passes the soccer ball over to me.
"That wasn't so bad dad. You didn't embarrass me too much."
"Glad I didn't embarrass you."
A few soccer parents wave good-bye, and call me Coach.
"Good game Coach."
"Great job Coach. You really got them playing as a team."
I think I could get used to this coaching thing.
"Dad! I am not going to wear those shorts. I want to wear these!"
I look at my 9 year old son in amazement. He wants to wear pajama bottoms to play soccer.
"No way. They have rules against pajama bottoms. The rules say you have to wear shorts to play soccer."
This is made up. Trickery is the only tool left that gets the job done quickly. I no longer scorn the Machiavellian 'means to an end', and resort many times to 'whatever it takes'.
The field is a 10 minute drive across town. We arrive at a brown field under a hazy blue sky. The sky makes me sleepy. Yesterday I e-mailed a group of strangers, telling them I'd be at this field at this time, wearing an orange baseball cap. Many of these strangers start walking up to me, introducing themselves and telling their sons to listen to what I say. I am the soccer coach.
The boys gather in a circle around me. I sometimes get nervous speaking in front of groups. But this is different. They are all my son's age and have the attention span of a monkey. They stare at me blankly for a few seconds as I introduce myself. Then I throw the ball to one and ask him to tell us his name and one thing he likes to do.
"I'm Isaac and I like video games."
This draws a laugh from the group.
"I'm Sam and I also like video games."
End tally: six like video games, three love video games, two like food and one likes the piano. If this were Lord of the Flies, I can tell who Piggy would be.
I break them up into groups and have them kick the ball. Most of them start kicking it at a fence.
"Hey, kick it to each other."
"The fence is better, it doesn't miss."
I can see that this is no group of dummies.
Game time arrives and we get the boys out onto the field. They stand around, not sure what to do with themselves. They awkwardly look at one another, then look off into the distance at the high white clouds. Suddenly a soccer ball appears, a whistle blows and the other team starts marching down the field to our goal. Our goalie stands open-mouthed, arms hanging limp at his side. Then a switch is suddenly flipped - the boys start running, yelling like cave men, chasing the ball.
Like an instinct kicks in.
The game unfolds over the course of an hour. Back and forth across the field the boys run. Skills are sharpened. Passes become harder and straighter, yells more confident and strident. Standout players emerge.
The team is gelling.
The game ends with a win. Two goals for our team, none for the opposing team.
"Alright guys, good game, way to play as a team. Let's form a line and congratulate the Lions. They played hard."
"Yeah but we played better!"
"Yeah, the energy chews really helped!"
"Go Grizzlies!"
The game over, I walk across the field with Isaac to our car. He passes the soccer ball over to me.
"That wasn't so bad dad. You didn't embarrass me too much."
"Glad I didn't embarrass you."
A few soccer parents wave good-bye, and call me Coach.
"Good game Coach."
"Great job Coach. You really got them playing as a team."
I think I could get used to this coaching thing.
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