Return to the pitch.
Part three 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].
As with part one and two, what follows is a brief narrative of my experiences as a young person trying to assert an identity within the role of an association football (also known as soccer) coach (McCall & Simmons, 1978). Stets and Burke (2000) define identity as the categorisation of the self as an occupant of a role, while incorporating the self into the meanings and expectations associated with the role and its fulfilment. As Oyserman, Elmore, and Smith (2012) suggest, identity can be focused on the past (e.g. what used to be true of the individual), the present (e.g. what is true of the individual now) or the future (e.g. the person the individual expects, hopes or feels obliged to become; or the person one fears one may become). Using an auto ethnographic approach, I explore my lived experiences through a number of rich, contextualised vignettes: drawing meaning and connections to extend our understanding of identity (Ellis & Bochner, 2000).
Return to the pitch
Moving forward 18-months I had completed my degree and had moved to the other side of the United Kingdom to start a Ph.D. I still thought of myself as primarily a coach, but something had changed. While back home everyone had known me as a coach, here I was being judged for pontificating to other coaches I had met without “walking the walk.’’ My new peers were not abusive, they just did not see me as a coach and openly challenged my claims; usually through the half-mocking banter of new friends. Why should they think of me as a coach, I was still calling myself one without doing any coaching. I struggled to argue my point, but it was of no use, without context the role meant nothing — like a teacher and a student within a school, the roles of coach and player are defined within the social structure of the club. As the new season drew nearer the pressure built, before eventually it was time to put up or shut up. A colleague was acting as the player manager of a local team and based on his recommendation the club offered me the role of manager. Somewhat nervously I succumbed and agreed to return to coaching.
The Training Ground
On a late September evening, with the sun already descending below the horizon, I arrived at a slightly dilapidated hotel where training was to be held. Armed with little more than a few cones left over from my previous stint in coaching and a couple of semi-deflated footballs I had purchased earlier that day, I waited nervously in the car park. Distancing myself from the players I thought: What the hell am I doing here? I’m not a coach anymore, I really don’t need all this shit again! Eventually I composed myself and entered the pitch. With each step I could feel the frost starting to crystallise the grass under my boots. Carefully, I placed cones on the icy turf and listened to the gentle crunch as the cone met the grass. Feeling a unified gaze penetrating the back of my head I looked over and saw the players huddled and looking in my direction. I wondered what they were discussing, what their initial reactions of me were and if I was ready: This session is going to be worse than terrible and the players would be better off without me. If this goes badly I doubt I’ll even be able to show my face at their games. Eventually my desire to be professional silenced this inner monologue and I composed myself; I had a job to do: Maybe Steve [excluding the first author, pseudonyms are used throughout] hasn’t told them anything about my background and anything will seem good after not really having a coach for so long. On the plus side they’re all having a laugh and a joke, perhaps this doesn’t need to be as serious as I am making it.
With a sense of panic I checked my watch and attempted to suppress my doubts: Shit look at the time, we should have started 3 minutes ago. Bloody hell; I’ve got to do it now. I’m a good coach, I’m a good coach! It’ll be fine, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Right let’s do it! After finally plucking up enough courage to disguise my nerves, I jumped straight into coaching mode and started my first drill, only to be instantly pulled up by one of the senior players for not introducing myself. With a surge of blood rushing to my cheeks and a wide-eyed expression, I apologised and proceeded to tell my coaching `life-story’. The younger players looked bored and I could tell from the dirty looks they were giving to the player who had pulled me up that they were wondering why he had to ask. Despite the difficult start, the players responded well to my ideas, although, I knew that I was more than a bit rusty. After running a 90-minute session, I was done. I had half ideas of things I wanted to do, but unlike my former, confident self, I was too nervous to wing it. The team didn’t appear to notice that I was faking confidence and if they did, they were polite enough to pretend that they hadn’t. Although not a run-away success I was at least coaching again.
As my slightly blue hands gripped the steering wheel on the drive home, my thoughts quickly turned to my first game in charge. With only one session under my belt, consisting of only half the squad, I was apprehensive that the team would be humiliated and that if they were, that I would not be able to recover my credibility with the players (and myself). With the heater blasting and a prickling sensation in my cheeks, I decided that once home, I would do something unusual and email my individual match instructions to each player. As anyone who coaches an amateur football team will confer, players don’t usually respond well to things that are unusual. They like routine, 4–4–2, and chips as a post match meal, but given the lack of time available the gamble seemed worth taking.
How did the players respond? If you can’t wait until next week, don’t forget that you can read the whole story and importantly, the psychological explanations of the processes experienced here [an academic login is required].
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