(This is quite a departure from my previous Nelson's Column posts. It pretty much serves as a diary of my burgeoning coaching career. For obvious reasons, names and locations have been changed/omitted)
I'm now 35 years old. It's been eleven years since a very nasty leg break at work which has never really healed. Despite a few attempts at resurrecting my once promising amateur playing career, it's never really happened... So I decided to enquire about coaching instead. The thought of countless hours talking to people about how to play football - hopefully in the way I never got. Pretty much the sum total of my education was the PE teacher at school saying "run around" then having a go at me for scoring a hat-trick in a game while I was playing left back (we lost 4-3).
Luckily I work for a football club who take pride in their various under-age teams and a chairman who was very supportive of my career aspirations. So I volunteered to help one of the under 9 teams. I turned up on Sunday morning at 10am with my shiny new Copa Mundials and enthusiasm. The two coaches who were there were very welcoming, their passion was obvious. But so was the challenge that they face. Teaching and coaching football isn't the hardest part. It's the people.
Without meaning to sound like a miserable old bastard, kids these days don't have much attention. Trying to get twelve youngsters to listen, pay attention and follow instructions is very difficult. They want to just recreate the players whose shirts they wear. Ronaldo, Hazard, Fabregas, Alexis were all in attendance, along with their flicks and tricks. One kid turned up in Crocs.
So I helped put out the cones, collected stray footballs and gently encouraged teamwork and movement. The sessions focused on changes in speed and direction, reminiscent of the agility test I had to do before I joined my job. Don't remember that level on Pro Evo. The parents who stayed for the 80 minutes were in good humour, not overly competitive other than mutterings of "my boy thinks he's Harry Kane, watch him twat it wide from twenty yards".
I even got involved when one small kickabout needed an extra player. Helping from within the pitch was a big help, I ended up saying a lot of "move, follow the bib, on your toes", like Apollo Creed from Rocky III. On the drive home, I felt satisfied that the touch is still there, not the fitness. The curry and beer I had the night before didn't help.
So unfortunately due to my shifts, I won't be able to make the next session, but will make the one after (before a late turn). I enjoyed it very much, I just hope the kids can put up with me!
