When I started coaching youth basketball, I had no idea it would lead me into other sports. I’ve been the head man of 20-plus teams in my life, and I just finished my third season coaching volleyball. This year was unusual; my fifth-grade team had no more than four kids show up for a practice. And my four graders were a mix of boys and girls, ranging from dedicated athletes to silly kids. But this column is about the dynamic that developed between our best player and me. ChatGPT couldn’t make this up.
Practice
This kid pissed me off during practice. I’m talking about the best player, whom I’ll call Vince, through the remainder of this piece.
Vince would spike the ball at other players’ heads from close range during warmups. On his good days, he would throw volleyballs onto the bleachers, which forced Coach, with sketchy knees, to climb to the top. This also encouraged the other players to ask if they could climb up there, too.
We’re supposed to be playing.
If we actually got to the point of six players on each side, he’d find his friend at the last minute, and they’d start running around the court while throwing balls at each other.
I wanted to kick him off the squad, but there were reasons why I couldn’t.
The first is that the school I coach at is arguably the most elite K-8 institution in Washington State. There’s a fine line between discipling a kid and dealing with billionaire smoke. The second is because he’s only a little kid.
And it took me a while to realize that.
Scrimmage
As mentioned in the intro, I was supposed to coach a fifth-grade team this year, but that didn’t happen.
Since the kids were busy during our scheduled games and practices, the athletic director had an alternative plan.
She decided to host an intramural round-robin tournament among all five teams at the school. It was only the second time our star player had shown up for a match.
I knew I wasn’t gonna start him, players have to earn that right.
But what I didn’t know was that he was going to drag another player by his feet on the sidelines, during the middle of the contest.
I told him and two other guys to stop, but they didn’t listen. So I informed them they couldn’t play for the rest of the set. Something had to be done; it was a bad look in front of the parents.
The entire time Vince was on the sidelines, he kept repeating, “I’m a bench warmer,” but when he found out he couldn’t play, he left the gym and sat in the lobby.
I watched the game and him simultaneously, and approached him in the lobby asking if he wanted the final serve of the match.
He accepted, but the other team hit a nice return and won the game.
My scheme backfired.
The Final Match
As we entered the final match of the season, I had moved past the scrimmage. I would’ve preferred the relationship to have ended on a better note, but life goes on.
My main concern in the last contest was remembering to bring two boxes of Girl Scout cookies, which I left at home.
Fourth-grade volleyball’s a chill atmosphere; we don’t even keep score. So the final match should’ve been relaxed, but Vince showed up.
I was surprised to see him, but ecstatic that he was there.
I was hoping he tried hard; his dad was a former Super Bowl Champion, and I wondered if that influenced the decision.
Vince gave it his all during the contest and destroyed everyone in the first set. But a referee took notice and started enforcing high-level volleyball rules. We don’t even keep score.
These rules were targeted at Vince, and after many questionable calls, I stood up for my player.
Initially, I asked the ref to call the game both ways, but he refused. I asked again, but he remained one-sided. It forced me to make my own calls. When a kid committed a foot-fault on the other team, I told the entire gym. The ref changed the call, but the Super Bowl Champion sitting on the sidelines yelled, “This is supposed to be fun.” This was a message to both of us.
There were no incidents the remainder of the match, but my team went on a huge run and said the unsaid. As we were walking off the court, I saw Vince smile and mumble, “We scored nine straight points to end the game.”
I felt like a jerk during that match, but sometimes the right thing to do is ugly.
Conclusion
As a youth coach, my main goals are participation and fun. Most teams I’ve been on have a tricky player or two. But it’s my job as a coach to remain calm and set an inclusive atmosphere for all athletes. I usually don’t talk to the referee, but I felt it was necessary in this instance. This kid’s feelings were more important to me than the refs.
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