Updated: August 21, 2015
Originally Published: November 29, 2013
Your alarm goes off at 7:30 AM, and a dull ache fills your head. It’s not a hangover; rather, it’s the relentless tune of a catchy pop song that’s been stuck in your mind since your daughter’s last carpool. As Saturday rolls in—dubbed “Dadurday”—you realize that in just three hours, you’ll be leading your son’s soccer team for yet another match, aiming to avoid an eighth consecutive defeat in a season where they’ve been outscored 49 to 1. At least the end of this grueling volunteering stint is in sight.
From your bedroom, you hear the invigorating sounds of a television blaring. You venture into the living room to find your 7-year-old engrossed in cartoons, having indulged in a feast of junk food and screen time. Wrappers are strewn about—a perfect prelude to the game where his sugar crash will surely coincide with the kickoff. You had hoped, like every other week, that they might finally experience the sweet taste of victory, but it seems they are destined to relish only the dirt, salty tears, and a hefty dose of defeat at the hands of their opponents.
Your first order of business is coffee. Peering out the window, you spot the ominous dark clouds that have lingered throughout the past muddy weeks. You feel a twinge of frustration directed at your spouse, who convinced you to take on this coaching role while she attends her Saturday boot camp. However, you know you must support her endeavors as a working mom, sacrificing your own comfort for hers. If you can endure the next six hours filled with the chaos of your three children’s games, perhaps you’ll earn a brief respite to catch a nap during college football.
Miraculously, you manage to get everyone dressed and out the door by 8:30 AM. Just as you pull away, your wife returns home, beaming and full of energy from her workout. You should feel happy for her, but instead, you drive off while your youngest starts to cry for her.
Just one win. That would make every effort worthwhile.
Upon arrival, you find none of your six players present. Perhaps they’ve given up—though it often felt like they lost interest from the very first practice. Yet, there were fleeting moments when determination shone through. Even when they seemed more captivated by the dirt than the game, they were aware of their score—usually trailing by 8; you lost track of the exact count.
Gradually, the team trickles in. As always, you greet them with enthusiasm and high-fives. Today’s game is longer, designed to give the kids a chance to “pull it all together.” You opt to focus on shooting practice, though they haven’t scored since that fluke goal in the first game—unless you count the many own goals they’ve scored. Forget about passing; today, they must experience the joy of scoring, which you hope will lead to that elusive win.
As expected, the kids ignore your instructions and instead create their drills, which you had previously encouraged. By the time you hear about their inventive exercises involving cones, it’s time to start the game. Let’s do this!
The opposing team appears small and vulnerable. You almost feel pity for the onslaught of goals your team is about to unleash. Within two minutes, however, you find yourselves down 3-0. As has been the trend every week, if the other team has even one skilled player, they dominate. This team boasts two, while your squad has two players adept at taunting.
Before long, it’s 8-0, and with kids losing interest on and off the field, you battle the urge to throw in the towel or to trip the opposition’s star player. The other coach, a high school girl, tries to help by limiting her skilled players’ time on the field. One of your team’s parents can’t contain himself and chastises the opposing player for celebrating a goal.
You sense that the other team, perhaps out of kindness or boredom, might allow some mercy goals. Yet, try as you might, the ball refuses to find the net. Your son claims to be injured and sulks on the sidelines. After an hour, someone finally calls the match. Time of death: 10:31 AM.
As a consolation, a thoughtful parent brought donuts, and your players are thrilled. Your son miraculously recovers, and as they indulge, you attempt a post-game pep talk. You express your pride in their improvement and perseverance throughout the season, though you’re unsure they hear you. One parent encourages the kids to cheer for their coach, but all you hear is silence. You wonder whether the parents appreciate your volunteering or if they blame you for their kids’ shortcomings. After cleaning up the leftover trash, you hand in your equipment, avoiding the other coaches on their way to celebratory pizza parties.
It’s finally over. You wish for a heartwarming conclusion or a lesson learned—perhaps just one goal to mark the end of this saga. Despite your efforts over the weeks, including bringing in older players for drills, seeking help from parents, and even bribing with treats, it rarely felt fun. In the end, the league pressured you into coaching as a way to keep your son active rather than watching television every Saturday. Was it worth it? You’re certain you won’t take on this challenge again, but you may have said the same thing after your last coaching stint. At least no one got hurt—physically.
Who’s ready for basketball?
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Summary
Volunteer coaching can be a challenging yet rewarding experience. Despite many setbacks, the effort put into guiding young players can foster growth and resilience. While the season may not have ended in triumph, the bonds formed and lessons learned are invaluable.