I am coaching girls (Australian) footy again. It’s been about three years since I coached and I’ve graduated to the U15s, after having coached the U10s and 12s. Some of the girls in the 15s I have coached previously. They’ve changed quite a bit. They’re all now taller than me, for a start.
When I agreed to coach I spent some time researching appropriate skill drills and getting prepared. I took notes. I didn’t know exactly what level of skill the girls would have, but I was hopeful.
I prepared for the first session with a program, written on a piece of paper. I diagramed the drills so I would remember them. I checked the plan with Dash. He gave it the nod.
I turned up for the session and the players and I were both tentative but I tried not to let that show on my part. I had a general chat with them and asked them what they liked and didn’t like about footy. Running, they said, we hate running.
Given how much running is involved in footy, this was going to make life difficult.
The session was not smooth. I had been too ambitious with some of the drills. Their kicks went awry. They hit the ground or skewed off on an angle. They are rusty, I thought.
The second session was not much better in terms of skills, but the girls were getting comfortable. I could tell because they were talking. A lot. While I was trying to explain things. There was no haste during drills, no energy. When the ball flew at them in the air they waved their arms at it and didn’t move their feet. I would have got that if it was in a game, one of them told me.
No you wouldn’t, I thought.
I pushed on.
In the third session, the U13s joined us. The chat was louder and more insistent. I’d planned to work hard on kicking. We were going to go through the technique, then practice with tennis balls, emphasising the ball drop and watching it onto their boot. Then we would move to footballs.
I gave them all tennis balls. Some players went off and slowly and carefully tried to follow the instructions. A large number of them clustered in groups and chatted, throwing the balls every now and then, or kicking them as hard as they could, in random directions.
This would not do.
I sat them down.
Do you want to play footy? I asked. Yes, they answered. Are you sure? I said. Because right now it doesn’t really look like it. A few had told me in the first session that they were there because “my mum makes me”.
If you don’t want to play, I said, then don’t play. I don’t care if you play or not. If your parents are insisting you play, I think you’re old enough to let them know that this is not what you want.
When I explain something, I need you to listen, I said. Right now it looks like you’re not interested in playing, given how you are doing the drills, so you need to decide what you want. I don’t get paid to do this. I do this because I love football and I want girls to be able to play it. If you don’t want to play, don’t waste your time, your parents time and money, and my time.
They were quiet. Many of them looked at the ground, some of them looked me right in the eye the whole time.
So let’s get on with it, I said.
They got up and moved on to the next drill. They were still talking while I was trying to explain things.
I snapped.
Right, all of you, run a lap of the oval. And you can blame those two – I pointed at two players – who wouldn’t be quiet after I asked them three times.
They were shocked, but they went. Some of them walked the lap but they got the message. I don’t like using exercise as a punishment, it frames it all wrong, but I was getting annoyed and I just needed to get them away from me for 5 minutes so I could regroup. Raising my voice was not an option.
By the end of the session some of the older ones were telling the talkers to shut up and listen.
I went home and wanted to give up. I had had visions of smooth kicking drills, of marks and strategies and players who could run all day.
Later that week I decided to pull out. If they don’t want to do it, I don’t want to waste my time.
Dash talked me out of it. Just give it another session, he said.
On Monday I went with a plan. I wrote it out on a piece of paper, folded it into quarters and put it in the pocket of my shorts. I had revised my expectations and picked drills that I thought they could manage. Drills that didn’t involve long lines and standing around. Drills that kept them moving and involved contests. Drills that didn’t rely on accurate kicks.
I didn’t refer to the piece of paper. We started with some kicking between pairs. They were relaxed and chatting but they were kicking. There was some improvement in their technique. As they talked, they kept kicking, I didn’t interrupt them.
They took a break and someone starting talking about wanting to take a “speccy” this season: when you use the back of another player to gain height and take a mark over their head. We have a speccy bag, I said. You put it on someone and you can practice leaping. CAN WE GET IT OUT they said.
Sure, I said.
And the tackle bag? Can we get that?
Why not, I said. I actually had a drill planned that involved that.
A few of them volunteered to rush off to the gear room and they dragged the equipment out.
One of the Dads volunteered to wear the speccy bag.
I threw the ball into the air - not trusting my knee to kick accurately to them every time – while they ran up and tried to launch themselves at it.
At first they were tentative. They weren’t sure they were allowed, that they would allow themselves to launch into the air.
Then they got going. One of them took a speccy, knocking over the Dad in the process. Other girls waiting in line cheered. Others were draping themselves over the tackle bag and rolling about, watching everything and laughing.
You’re like little kids I said.
They just laughed.
They attempted speccy after speccy, visibly gaining in confidence.
We did the tackling drill and one of them ran alongside the pair doing the drill, filming it all.
They fought over my whistle during the game at the end of the session, they wanted to umpire. I had to allocate each equal time, but they made the right calls and argued with each other.
The rest of the session went quickly. They laughed and they listened and they helped me pack up the gear. A couple of them took a ball home after I offered to lend them balls to practice during the week.
I had forgotten myself during the session, I’d forgotten that I had wanted to give it up. I’d forgotten my own struggles and stresses. I’d been present in the moment.
I could barely walk – I’d trained with Ricky earlier in the day then run around on my knee – and badly needed an ice pack. I was physically spent but I felt a calmness I hadn’t felt for some time.
When I coached the U10s I just wanted the girls to enjoy the game and hopefully fall in love with it. I wanted them to support each other, to build confidence in their own abilities and hopefully take this into other areas of their lives. Never allow anyone to tell you that you can’t play football, I had told them. I hoped they realised this applied to everything in their lives.
I’d forgotten this. I’d assumed these girls were here to be serious and refine their skills. But they’re not. They lack confidence. They are worried someone will judge them, they doubt their ability to kick a ball straight and so they don’t try. Because if they don’t try, they won’t look bad when they make a mistake. It will all just be a joke.
Last night I asked a girl - who was doing the kicking I would usually do in the drill – to get more height on her kicks. I can’t, she said, how do I do that? I showed her. Can I go and practice, she asked. Sure, I said. After four or five attempts she kicked it exactly how I had wanted. She turned to me and screamed. She threw her arms out and her face was alight.
See, you CAN do it, I said.
Not everyone is going to be a champion. Training with girls like this is not straightforward. They doubt their abilities and they also don’t want to take their sport as seriously as others. This doesn’t mean they can’t get something from it. They don’t want more pressure. There are so many other things going on in their lives, so many things to negotiate. If they can’t be little kids on the field, if they can’t play, for just an hour or two, when can they?
I forgot that with some kids, their skills improve when they’re having fun. Even when they’re 15. The fun is the conduit to the skills, you can’t just focus on skills for the sake of it, particularly with girls who haven’t played since they were were tiny, who are still negotiating what it means to play a sport like Australian Football, in a state where it is a minor sport, and be a teenage girl.
The season starts in a couple of weeks. It’s not going to be easy, but I’m very glad to be back.
Like this?
If you ever feel like showing your appreciation, feel free to ‘buy me a coffee’ (make a small, one-off contribution).
I devoured this like it was the first chapter in an awesome book about footy. Loved it! All the best for the season.