Return to the pitch — Part two.
Part five 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, two, three, and four 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).
The Dressing Room
Amateur football dressing rooms are rarely attractive places, but this one was an absolute hole. The stench of sweat and damp hit me almost as hard as the wall of noise coming from the players who, despite the conditions, seemed jovial and exerted a nervous electricity. It may not be pretty but this would be our sanctuary before and after the match. Conscious of the time I tried to take the lead, but could not get a word in edgewise: I really need them to shut up so I can get my instructions across. The metaphorical devil on my shoulder tries to persuade me that it might be better if I kept quiet: Perhaps you don’t need to talk to them as a group, you could just speak to everyone individually; that would be easier. Before the angel on the other shoulder interrupts: No, you have got to remind them of the instructions as a team or no one will know what the others are doing. Gathering both my thoughts and composure I find a resolution to the debate occurring inside my mind: Ok, stay calm, I’ll speak to Leo one on one, then have a drink and speak to the group… Leo had recently moved to the UK from Spain and although he spoke reasonable English, he had told me that he only really understood about 50% of what I was saying:
“Leo, if you get the chance today I want you to look for the pass in behind.”
With a shrug of his shoulders and a tilt of his stubbly chin Leo nodded, but I was not convinced that the message had been received. Time was ticking away and I decided to leave it. Meekly I interrupted the players’ discussions to hear if they’d received my instructions. Despite receiving nothing back all week, I was pleasantly surprised that most of the squad had read them and took the ideas on board. There was of course an air of sarcasm associated with the whole idea, but at least most of them had given it a go.
With the clock ticking down to kick-off I took the players out to warm up. Some of the players wanted to do their own thing — unsurprisingly the ones who hadn’t read my instructions, which made me wonder if their lack of group participation was an attempt at dominance, as if to say “I know better”, but I shelved my insecurities and focused on the task in hand. After 30 minutes we were back in the disgusting dressing room and the nerves were still present. Ten minutes before kick off and the players were all still chatting. I needed to go through some final points and make sure they understood my instructions before kick-off, but a break in the conversation never came. Luckily one of the senior players seemed to sense my apprehension and quietened everyone down. After only completing one training session together and knowing that we were away to the team sitting at the top of the league, I tried to ease the players’ nerves by suggesting that we had nothing to lose and that developing an understanding of how I wanted them to play would take time. Really I thought we were going to lose and was trying to buy myself a bit of time should things go horribly wrong. The message seemed to lift the players. I continued with my speech:
“I hear this team will try and bully us, but we will not be bullied”.
I tried to instil a confidence in the team that we were strong and encouraged them to look after one another. The opposition were known for being a particularly nasty bunch from an area of town where most avoid, but I was determined to quell my insecurities and lead from the front. However, inside, I was worried in equal measure, for my team’s safety, my reputation, and particularly what a heavy defeat would do to the fledgling re-emergence of my coaching identity.
The Match
During the first half an hour we were under pressure, the opponents were everything I had expected and were dominating us, however, they hadn’t scored. The players started bickering with one another, but I tried to nip it in the bud early on by reminding them of my team-talk and that it would take time to understand each others role within the team. As the half fizzled out, we grew in confidence and started to play as I had asked. Little by little, we pushed them back until as the half-time whistle blew we were the only team that looked like scoring.
During the half-time team-talk, I again could not find a gap in the conversation. One of the older players, who had done his own warm up, had started chatting with some of the players on the way off the pitch and still hadn’t shut up after 5 minutes of getting into the dressing room: If this prat wants to lead the team so much why didn’t he take the job? Feeling an increased sense of annoyance: This is a bloody joke, they clearly don’t see me as a leader yet. If they don’t want a coach then why am I here wasting my time! I gave the player a tap on the shoulder and half joked about who was managing the team. Convincing myself that I was not the problem (although my lack of confidence probably had a factor) I took charge of the situation and suppressed my annoyance. I encouraged the players to build on the last fifteen minutes and explained that the opposition were tiring, while we were getting stronger. I made some slight tactical tweaks and encouraged one of the other senior players to share his thoughts as he looked like he may burst if I hadn’t. Luckily, he just wanted to back up what I had said, encourage the boys to follow the instructions and that he felt we could win the game. I appreciated the sentiment and began to feel more comfortable in my role and part of the team, but had been in the game long enough to know kind words are quickly forgotten if results are not going well.
Will we win the match and will I find my coaching identity? Check back next week for the final instalment. Don’t forget to give us a follow on here and on Twitter so not to miss the next part.
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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