You wake up at 7:30 a.m., your head throbbing—not from a late-night celebration, but from a catchy pop tune that’s been stuck in your mind since your daughter’s last carpool. It’s Saturday morning, affectionately dubbed “Dad Day.” In just three hours, you’ll be coaching your son’s soccer team, which has suffered eight consecutive losses, wrapping up a season where they’ve been outscored 49 to 1. At least your nine weeks of volunteer coaching are almost behind you.
As you lie in bed, you hear the TV blaring in the living room. You find your seven-year-old glued to cartoons, looking like he’s raided the snack cupboard. Wrappers are strewn everywhere—fantastic. His inevitable sugar crash will hit just before the longest game of the year. You had hoped, as you do every week, that they might experience the thrill of victory. Instead, they’ll likely just enjoy the taste of dirt, salty tears, and a hefty dose of defeat dished out by other seven-year-olds.
Your first task is to make a strong cup of coffee. Glancing out the window, you spot those ominous dark clouds that have hovered over the past five muddy weeks. You’re frustrated that your partner convinced you to take on this coaching role, and every Saturday, she’s off at her “boot camp” while you scramble to find cleats, shin guards, and even a semblance of optimism. But supporting her fitness goals is important, and sacrifices are what dads do. If you manage to survive the next six hours of your children’s games, you might even squeeze in a twenty-minute nap while watching college football.
Somehow, you gather everyone in their gear and head out by 8:30 a.m. Just as you’re pulling away, your partner arrives home, beaming with energy from her workout. You should be thrilled that someone feels good today, but as you drive off, your youngest begins to cry for Mom.
Just one win—could that make it all worthwhile?
You arrive at the field on time, but none of your six little players are there yet. Maybe they’ve given up before the final week; they certainly seemed to lose interest from the first practice. Yet each week, you catch glimpses of determination and skills you’ve tried to cultivate. Just when you think they care more about playing in the mud than the game, they seem to know exactly how far behind they are—usually eight goals. You’ve stopped keeping track.
Slowly, they trickle in, and like every week, you greet them with high-fives and encouragement. The league scheduled a longer game for the last week to give the kids a chance to “put it all together.” Right, all the skills they’ve mastered by now. You decide to start with shooting practice. They haven’t scored since that fluke goal rolled in from midfield in the first game—unless you count the goals they accidentally scored on themselves. Forget passing and fundamentals! Today, you want them to feel the joy of scoring, which you hope will lead to that elusive win.
As expected, none of the kids pay attention to the warm-up drill. You dislike raising your voice in front of their parents, and your whistle seems to have no effect. Balls are flying everywhere except towards the goal. Their focus is on inventing their own drills—something you encouraged weeks ago. By the time you hear them explain their elaborate cone-stacking routines, it’s already time to start the game. Oh well. Let’s get it over with!
The opposing team appears small and beatable. You almost feel pity for the score they’re about to endure. But within minutes, you find yourselves down 3-0. As has been the case every week, if the other team has one skilled player, they dominate. This team has two. Just like in higher leagues, two standout players are unstoppable. Your team has two kids who excel at taunting the opposition, and that’s about it.
Before long, it’s 8-0, and with kids losing interest both on and off the field, you resist the urge to throw in the towel or trip an opposing player on his way to yet another goal. The other coach, a high school girl, tries to help by limiting her star players’ time on the field and encouraging them to pass rather than score. Frustrated, one of your players’ dads admonishes the opposing star for celebrating a goal.
You can sense the other team might allow some mercy goals out of generosity or sheer boredom. You try everything, and so do your players, but that confounded ball just won’t find the net. Your own son claims he’s injured and sulks on the sidelines. Finally, after an hour, someone calls the game. Time of death: 10:31 a.m.
For post-game treats, a kind parent brings donuts. Your players are thrilled, and miraculously, your son recovers. As they munch on their treats, you attempt to deliver a pep talk, praising their improvement and effort throughout the season. Who knows if they’re listening? One parent urges them to cheer for you: “Hip hip…” (silence). Not a single “thank you” from the kids. You can’t tell if the parents appreciate your volunteer work or blame you for the losses. You clean up the mess they leave and turn in your equipment while avoiding the other coaches enjoying their pizza celebrations.
It’s finally over. You wish there were a happy ending, a lesson learned, or even just one goal to show for this long journey, but there isn’t. You tried everything—bringing in older kids to run drills, enlisting parents for help, and bribing kids with treats. One parent even offered money for a goal. Most importantly, you aimed to keep it fun, even when it rarely was.
Ultimately, the league pressured you into coaching to prevent your son from spending every Saturday in front of the TV. Was it worth it? You know you won’t do it again. But then again, you said that the last time you volunteered too. At least nobody got hurt—physically, that is.
So, who’s up for basketball?!
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Summary:
Volunteer coaching can be a challenging yet eye-opening experience. From struggling to motivate players to dealing with the inevitable defeats, it tests your patience and dedication. Despite the setbacks, the true reward lies in the lessons learned and the joy found in small victories along the way. Whether you succeed or fail on the field, the experience shapes your approach to parenting and teamwork in ways that resonate beyond the game.