From fantasy to reality: What do you want to do when you grow up?
Part one of my auto ethnography (i.e., creative reflections of my personal experiences) exploring some of the psychological processes involved in constructing, deconstructing and partially reconstructing a coaching identity. If you’d like to read the whole article you can do so here [an academic login is required].
Beep beep, beep beep, a deep breath leaves my body as I swing an arm over to hit the alarm. Conjuring all the effort available to me, I force my eyes open to the darkness and traipse my weary body into the shower. The steam starts to clear my head and the water washes away the night. It’s 5am and I’m awake. No 14-year old should be up at this time, but I am — all in the name of football. The floor boards flex as I tiptoe down the stairs — I mustn’t wake mum. I flick the small switch on the back of the kettle and anxiously wait for the white steam to rise from the spout. It seems to take an age, but eventually the button clicks and I’m rewarded with the brown fluid my body craves. Sluggishly I negotiate my way to the lounge and sit on the sofa — the cold of the leather excites my skin. It is a rare sensation in a house where the temperature rarely falls below sub-tropical. Fumbling for the remote I eventually find the right button and the television stirs into action. Creaking and cracking, a blue light fills the room and the screen begins to focus, it’s time for my weekly dose of Football Asia. Fascinated by the culture, I sit frozen to the spot; concentrating on absorbing everything I can, while fantasising about standing in a dugout. As the programme draws to an end, so does the perceived highlight of my day — I better get ready for school.
White shirt, loosely knotted tie, black jogging bottoms and a pair of white trainers. The unofficial school uniform for ‘people like me’. Generally I hate school. I don’t hate learning, far from it, I hate the environment and the teachers. I hate it when they won’t answer my questions, not that I bother asking anymore, if I do they scream “because I said so” and send me to the corridor. Today should be a good day though, as the career guidance people are coming in. The teacher has told us that they have some new computer programme that will calculate what career we’re best suited to. I can’t wait, I’m going to fix it so it says football coach. That way people won’t think it’s such a stupid idea.
One by one my friends and I head into a glorified cupboard, waiting to find out our destiny. I’m ready. “So John” the career counsellor starts “Do you like working inside or out?”, “outside” I reply. “Do you like working with others or by yourself”, this is a tough one, managers kind of make decisions on their own, but coaches work in a group “with others” I proclaim. “Are you active — fit and healthy?” he continues, “Very” I respond. There is a delay as the computer whirs. The air is stale and the pale, slightly dishevelled man stares blankly at the screen. “OK John, the computer suggests that your ideal career is — road digger. How do you feel about that — does that sound like something you might want to do?” There is silence as I sit open mouthed. My mind races — road digger?! Who aspires to dig bloody roads! “Erm, not really” I somewhat exasperatingly exclaim. “OK John, what would you like to do?” there is a slight pause as the blood rushes to my cheeks and the air leaves my body. I know it’s stupid, enough people have told me, but what the hell, “Honestly, I want to be the England Manager”.
Did I become the manager of the England national football team? Follow The Regista both here and on twitter for the next instalment to find out.
Click here for more articles.
