What the training app didn’t factor in was that kids get bored easily, so corners, throw-ins and formation chat were quickly put aside for “who wants a game?”.
The squad were pretty good. Most wanted to be there, and we had one very good player. But a few were only there, I suspect, because their fathers wanted them to play the sport – which I think is a football-specific issue in this country.
The team WhatsApp group would regularly go off on the morning of each training as parents were concerned about a possible passing shower in eight hours. There was also a vibe from parents that I was there to babysit their kids – one father asking if we could continue training sessions after the season because both he and his wife were working.
Telling a granddad to f*** off
As manager and coach, it was also my responsibility to referee matches – one half of the field the entire game. I’d work out a team lineup the night before, mixing our best players with our weakest, and trying to ensure every player got the same time on the field. But all good plans got thrown out when kids turned up late, or didn’t turn up at all. Suddenly, you’re scrambling to sort positions while the opposition are waiting patiently to kick off. Then the late kids turn up on the sideline expecting to get on the field straight away. The kids were mostly good about it and understood that everyone in the team should get the same time on the field, but sadly the parents – and grandparents – had a different view.
At one halftime, when we were trailing 2-0 (though really the score shouldn’t matter), I was bringing the kids in for a talk. While three different players were asking me if they could play striker in the second half, a grandfather pulled me aside and had a go about player positions and why one not-as-skilled boy had started the game. Already stressed with the three jobs I was trying to do, I snapped, told him to “f*** off, I don’t need to talk about this right now” … hopefully out of earshot of the kids. I apologised after the game, but my reasoning of “winning doesn’t really matter” fell on deaf ears.
The super-competitive coaches
You know what you’re up against when you meet the opposition coach. Most of the time they were good sorts who understood that it’s just about the kids having fun, and I believed I was in that category. Cheer on the kids’ efforts from both teams, make sure the tackles aren’t too rough and give them a few chances to get a throw-in right. But two or three coaches were there to win – an 8-year-old grade football game.
Often we wouldn’t have enough players because we had a smaller squad than other teams (despite all being part of the same club, some teams had twice as many players as we did). On one occasion, since we had only had four kids turn up and the games were seven-a-side, I asked an opposition coach if we could borrow a few of their players since they had a bench of five. I was swiftly told no.
Our competition had a rule of not having goalkeepers. And when I asked one coach to stop using a goalie, they just flat-out refused.
The yelling parents
When one parent starts yelling out “advice”, often other parents follow suit. You’d get some teams whose parents just stood and watched and offered water bottles to thirsty kids when needed and cheered goals. Much appreciated as a referee. But then there were the shouty teams. “Kick it that way, pass to Jaxton! No, the other Jackson!” But when my wife asked my son and me if the yelling put us of (some of it must have been directed at me as well), we both said you can’t really hear it because you’re too busy concentrating and running.
We had a moment in a game when two kids collided going for the ball and the opposition player came off worse, leaving him in tears but with no serious injury. The parents ran on to the field, making it clear they thought our player had attempted grievous bodily harm when it was just a typical football clash. The kids just wanted to play on, while now two lots of parents were arguing in the middle of the field. Instead of ending it, they just took it to the sideline and continued.
The moment I regret … fixing a kids’ game
The referees/coaches agree before each game who will be the timekeeper for each half, which was a power you held over the game. A few times, our side were hot on the attack, only for the whistle to be blown – by my watch, prematurely – but I let it go.
I was determined to be cool about the time-keeping.
Until the day we were leading a tight game by a goal, and the other team had a three-on-one attacking opportunity. I looked at my watch and saw there were still 30 seconds left … but the competitor in me decided we deserved the victory, and I blew the whistle to call full-time. Our team were ecstatic, but I instantly regretted it.
Then, in the final game of the season, we were playing a side that had lost every game. Our team were aware of this and were overly confident. Late in the game, it was tied up after seeing many of our shots hit the post and go wide. The winless team were desperately holding on and deserved their first (and only) point of the season. We broke away on attack and I blew the whistle early again, to make amends, only to see our striker score an absolute screamer which I had to tell him didn’t count. But the joy from the other team, that they finally didn’t lose, was worth it. Similar to my joy that the season was over.
My son now plays hockey.