A few weeks ago, my son and my nephew each graduated from high school. And now, my daughter is gearing up for her senior year. Henry (son) turned 19 in May; Troy (nephew) will do the same in September; Ruby has been 18 for a week and a half.
Troy’s off to college now, where he’ll play for his university’s soccer team. In the card I attached to his graduation gift, I reflected on some of my all-time-favorite uncle moments.
I gotta say, Uncle is a pretty good gig. And most of the Aunts I know feel the same about their role.
Near the top of my all-time-favorite uncle moments list—and realistically near the top of any list I’ll ever make about my favorite experiences in this life—is the opportunity I had to coach Henry, Ruby and Troy’s soccer team in the St. Joe Soccer league.
This was the U9–10 division, a co-ed league made up of nine- and ten-year-olds.
My coaching tenure covered the Fall 2014 and Spring 2015 sessions. By that point, we’d been playing at St. Joe for a few seasons. But—because it was foundational, fun and fair—the entirely volunteer-run league had grown. A lot.
To accommodate all of the new sign-ups, the league’s organizers needed more coaches. In fact, they were downright desperate for more coaches.
At sign-ups, they said: “Really. We’ll take anyone.”
I timidly raised my hand.
This is where I should note: I’d never played soccer in my life. Hadn’t watched it, either. But they make a book for people like me. (No real need to click the link; it’s literally a book called Coaching Soccer for Dummies.)
St. Joe Soccer did a random draw, and assigned each team a country. All the kids got replica World Cup jerseys.
For Fall-14, we were the United States of America. (USA! USA!) And for Spring-15, we got Australia. (Go ’Roos!)
My crew practiced at Lakeside Park, which doesn’t even have a soccer field pitch. But it does have a large grassy area, and that’s pretty much all you need. We put up some cones and a couple travel goals, and got down to work.
Troy’s older brother Bryant, who played high school soccer at the time, joined me to help out with skills training and developing a playbook. That was our intent, at least.
What we really did boiled down to just wrangling kids and trying to keep our voices down. Tough to succeed with both endeavors, honestly.
Soon enough, the season started.
I got a coaching app that helped create the lineup, ensuring equal playing time, and giving everyone a chance to play offense and defense. Also, very importantly, it helped me organize the snack schedule.
Most of our games were absolutely electrifying. My pulse would race and my hands would sweat the entire time.
I still get a little misty just thinking about having the chance to coach Henry and Ruby, who found joy in the game, and went on to play for their school teams. And even then, Troy was a baller.
I remember our whole team—Maggie and Grace and Simon and Josie and all of ’em—and sure hope those kids are all doing well now, in their late teens. Lord knows it ain’t easy.
In particular, I had a real affinity for Atticus, a wily wiseguy who lacked any notion of humility about how great he was at soccer.
Perhaps my greatest achievement as coach was that, over our two seasons together, Atticus became a passer.
On a breakaway, he’d dribble the length of the pitch with a singular focus on the opposing team’s goal, becoming double-, then triple-, then quadruple-teamed, before kicking the ball straight into a wall of defenders standing shoulder-to-shoulder, while his teammates stood wide open, waving their arms.
I yelled out, “Atticus, you’ve got to give it up to get it back!!!”
—
As a team, we were pretty decent. Slightly above middle-of-the-pack.
Most coaches were like me; “victory” meant just making it to the end of the game, hopefully with the kids feeling good, content that they had a chance to participate, and no parents cursing out the refs or wanting to get in a fight with one of us. Say what you will: We all deserved a participation medal.
But there were a couple coaches who were on another level. Former college or club players, leading teams built and recruited around their own exalted children—children who were seemingly born in a soccer kit.
One of those teams was led by a guy that I know professionally. Just a smart, fun, terrific fella.
As a coach, though, he was maybe a little more “Bill Belichick” than “Steve Kerr.”
His team was relentless in its dominance. They’d run up the score, and didn’t give a darn about equal playing time for their (very few) less-than-superstar team members.
This was all pre-Lasso, but my own approach was similar to Ted’s: I was always ready with a quip, and I tried to inject some big-picture life lessons and positivity into my coaching. And, occasionally, just a bit of pettiness.
Near the end of the season, we were playing the aforementioned juggernaut—the Germany team.
About 10 minutes in, they were up on us 3–0.
By halftime, it was 8–0.
The rout was on.
It was a sweltering, sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky.
The German coach wore wraparound sunglasses under a large-brimmed straw hat, a hat that might best be called an “urban sombrero.”
He was chawing on sunflower seeds, barking plays.
In the second half, as the German team crept toward a double-digit lead, I called over Atticus, Henry, Ruby and Troy.
I said, “New plan. Let’s say one of you has a chance for a goal, and it just so happens that the sun gets in your eye and temporarily blinds you, and you accidentally kick it wide, and in doing so you
KNOCK
THAT
DAMN
SOMBRERO
right off that coach’s head? Well, I’ll take the whole team to Dairy Queen after the match.”
“But coach, he’s not really standing anywhere near the goal.”
“Well, Atticus, here’s the thing.
In life, sometimes the goal is not the goal.”
Atticus gave a sneaky grin.
“I like that, coach.”
As the final whistle blew, the hat remained right where it started—on top of the opposing coach’s head.
But let me assure you: we had a couple thrilling “shots on goal.”
And then we all went out for ice cream cones.
After that Spring-15 season, Henry, Ruby and Troy were all moving up to the U11–12 division. It was a bigger pitch, and the competition was ramping up. Kids were starting middle school, and those school matches had a level of intensity and general seriousness that was even more elevated.
The rec league was seen as a rigorous place to develop skills and grow as players.
At this point, many of the kids knew more about the game than I did.
I was out in deep water.
I realized that I couldn’t help them out any longer.
In fact, I could only hold them back.
I stepped down as a coach, and Henry, Ruby and Troy joined a dynastic team led by a soccer lifer who I’d attended high school with.
That season, I sat in a camp chair on the sidelines with my family, my parents, my brother’s family. I’d be drinking a coffee in a travel mug, eating Goldfish crackers. We cheered, and when there was a break in the action, we caught up on life. It’s a good memory.
Sure enough, the game had grown faster and more complex. Physically exhausting. Mentally challenging.
I was relieved to not be coaching. Relieved, and also restless, fidgety, and pretty bummed.
I missed the racing pulse. The sweaty hands.
I missed grinding my teeth in the post-game handshake line, eye-to-eye with the German coach.
I missed feeling like I mattered, even a little bit, in the outcome of the match.
I regretted giving it up.
Then, a couple days ago, I got a thank-you card from Troy.
In his note, he shared some of his own favorite memories about those two special seasons at St. Joe, what they meant to him then, and how they influenced what’s ahead for him now.
I felt my pulse pick up. My hands started feeling clammy.
I smiled.
It’s just the way it goes, you know?
You’ve got to give it up to get it back.
One random morning, Matt Thomas came out and shot photos of our club. Matt and I later worked together at One Lucky Guitar, and now he has a fine production company, Upper Valley. I’m grateful these photos exist.
And a coupl’a snaps:
!!!! In life, sometimes the goal is not THE GOAL." !!! I smiled the whole time reading this. Thanks!
Love this so much, Matt. The remembrances, your approach to coaching, the significance of these experiences to your own life as well as the lives of your kids and nephew, your USA coaching uniform, and the pictures included. Thanks so much for the wisdom, thought, and time you put into this for us all. As I've shared with you, with my own sports experiences, I've tried to stay on the sidelines, helping out while at home but letting the sports be his own thing. But I was called in for a few BP sessions this past spring for Augie's team, and I may have an opportunity with it next year as well. I'm thinking about it, and this post may be pushing me even closer to doing it.
Thanks, Matt.