It sounds so cliche... but, damn. That happened fast.
My first little team, 12 years ago. Me a wide eyed assistant coach with the idea that I would be awesome at coaching little kid soccer. The head coach thinking something similar. How hard can it be? They're just little kids.
Holy hell.
Well, that's what you want to say... but they hear you... so you mouth words and censor yourself...
But, at any rate. My first little team. U6. They were four and five. My own son secured in the backpack during practices and games. He was one.
Those kids. To call them The Bad News Bears would be a disservice. A disservice to The Bad News Bears.
Reading the roster was like reading the treatment for a Nickelodeon show:
- Small for age.
- Allergic to dust and grass.
- Poor vision.
- Very shy.
They were not good. And, in their defense we were terrible coaches (in the beginning). We had them in lines. Running drills.
They were four.
In the end, we just yelled what they should do across the field. They listened. Actually, no. They didn't.
But, they grew and learned and we grew and learned. I coached another 10 years. Met a lot of fun little kids. Coached both my own for a few years. Until I realized I wanted to watch my kids from a lawn chair a lot more than I wanted to blow a whistle at them. Now I sit on the sidelines. Sometimes pace. But, very little yelling. I've learned. And, grown up.
But, that first little team. They just graduated from high school. They sent announcements. I went to parties. I gave gift cards. They are grown up now.
Not true.
They are adults.
