Football is Tough Love

With disappointment filling his narrowing eyes, Coach locked his eyes on mine.

I tried to maintain eye contact. But his eyes would not leave mine.

I tried to find some words to say. But none were forthcoming.

I was in high school, it was Monday after practice, and we (the entire team and coaching staff) were gathered in Coach’s classroom watching film from our game the Friday night before.

Coach was rewinding and playing again and again a mistake I had made.

With my face burning with embarrassment, I lowered my head and broke the eye lock.

He turned his attention back to the television set.

I did too.

But he was not through.

Squeezing the remote tightly in his hand, he looked back at me and shouted “Get your head in the game or you’ll be the first captain to ever sit the bench!”

It was the first time I had been dressed down by him or any other coach in front of my teammates. It stung. It still does.

But he was right.

I had had a bad game.

With the benefit of hindsight and the varied experiences I’ve gained as a father, professor, and coach, I find myself reflecting on that moment, questioning the dynamics at play and the impact such feedback can have on the athletes who receive it. In particular, wasn’t he afraid of rupturing our relationship?

I’ve heard others say that when a coach tells a player a hard truth, they may lose the player for 24 hours, but the player will eventually return to them.

That was true in my case.

After being let go from film, I found an empty stairwell to sit alone. I was hurt, stunned, and perhaps a bit angry. But I turned inward to reflect on his words in light of my performance and consider ways to get better. Coach did not lose me.

What made it possible for me to accept and grow from his critique? What made it possible for the vast majority of my teammates to respond similarly? 

Each of us could answer that question uniquely.

Our response to his feedback was influenced by our maturity, resilience, and the lives we were living outside of football. It was also influenced by our love for our teammates and of the game. However, I believe there was one key factor that contributed to our collective ability to accept and grow from coach’s critiques: the unparalleled emotional proximity between us and him.

It was an emotional proximity born of the hammering heat of August two-a-days. The early mornings and long days. The shared rituals and growth and change. The weight training and recovering from injuries. The long anticipatory bus rides into enemy territory. The stepping into arenas all over the Cincinnati area. The cauldron of Friday night under the lights. The gathering together on one knee in the cage of the locker room before and after each game. The us versus them energy. The digging deep. The giving it all that you’ve got and then some. The guilt of not showing up and the loss of status that attends not leaving it all on the field. The thrill of victory. The rising back up after a crushing defeat. The watching film together and being on the receiving end of an eye-lock.

Each experience enhanced the robustness of our relationship.

He was willing to risk telling us hard truths because he believed that the same light-your-ass-on-fire honesty, which could easily damage the relatively paper-thin relationships we had with other non-parental adults in our lives (teachers, counselors, school administrators, and religious leaders), had the power to deepen and strengthen the intensity of our bond.

The severity of his critique was matched by the depth of his love.

He loved us.

We knew it.

He repeatedly told us.

“When we get in your face, know that we love you; when we call you out for being late or lazy, know that we love you; when we tell you buckle up and drive safe, know that we love you.”

We love you.

We love you.

We love you.

Coaches telling their players that they love them, not once, not twice, but all of the time—at the end of each practice and game—is a potent, beautiful, world-shaping thing. It fosters a sense of belonging and creates an environment where players feel valued and motivated to grow. It teaches boys playing this violent game, boys learning to become men, that love is the cornerstone of life and relationships.

I recently took my son back home to Cincinnati. We met up with Coach at his local Skyline. And, after having our chili and conies and catching up, when we were saying our goodbyes, Coach locked his eyes on mine and said “Shawn, I love you.”

“I love you too, Coach” I answered.

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This post is part of my latest book project titled: “Football is _______”

Every two weeks, I’ll fill in the above blank with a word or phrase and tell a story. I’ll do that for 52 weeks and then compile the posts into a book of essays.

I’d love for you to join me on this journey and share your thoughts or stories along the way. If you enjoyed this post, please consider sharing it with others who might appreciate it as well.

Stay tuned for future updates on instagram (@blucollarprof).

Read previous posts in this series.

Thanks for reading! – shawn