We all know them. We all see them. The way they walk. The way they talk. Are they rebels? Are they outcasts? Are they cancers? Are they miscreants? Are they merely immature? How do we classify the Antonio Cassanos of the soccer universe, the players who travel from team to team, alluring with talent but repelling with character flaws? And, most importantly, how do I keep Junito out of this category?
One smells smoke before seeing fire. To this day, I believe that a certain overbearing parent wrecked my promising baseball career. I won’t name names or point fingers, but little league coaches don’t appreciate profanity-laced tirades before the end of try-outs. They envision a long and arduous season, with lots of phone calls, screams, and faces red from shouting. And they don’t select your kid.
I also know this because I have coached youth soccer. And I’ve seen the worst of the worst.
As a note, I did not coach any of the major Houston youth teams. I played futsal with some Brazilians on weeknights, and they hooked me into their Sunday-only team of ragamuffins. To be sure, one of my pals had a young son, Connor, that had prodigy written all over his face. But the rest of the team was more Bad News Bears than Lionheart. To their credit, the kids displayed a great attitude and loved the game. They had fun. Some parents, though, received a failing grade.
After a few months, I developed a repulsion to lawn chairs and sunhats. I associated these objects with…..ahem. The parents. True, most of the parents were all smiles, but two strands of trouble-makers revealed themselves: 1) The Full-time Lobbyist and 2) The Yeller. The Lobbyist would not offer briefcases of money or invite me to expensive lunches, but rather would make the case for his son’s starting eleven inclusion over frequent and informal chit-chats.
I would feign a sincere and serious face, laughing to myself while he listed the failings of the other 7 & 8 year old players “ahead of his son” in the imaginary line in my head that only he could see. If his son’s legs could run like his dad’s mouth, he would be an ODP all-star midfielder. Yet his son frequently stared at dandelions, showing little interest in the sport. I envision at an elite East Coast college in ten years’ time, a mohawk gracing his head, a ring protruding from his nose and eyebrow, and the eyes of a depressed forty year old living another man’s dream.
The bottom line – talk is cheap. And it’s easy to rub a decision-maker the wrong way. The best way to earn playing time is talent, dedication, and winning over your teammates. Yep. On a decent team, things run both meritocratically and democratically. Teammates will see you have talent. And if you are not a total showboat d-bag, they will lobby for you. And if your coach has no personal vendettas, you will rise to the top.
So, in terms of Junito’s development, the missus and I will only offer emotional support at games. I will be neither lobbyist nor (the self-explanatory) yeller. I plan on working with Junito extensively in our individual sessions, but won’t step on any coach’s toes. I may coach a few of his teams, but don’t want to get into a Little-Big Bradley situation like the US national team. When a rich vein of form from Maurice Edu can eventually disrupt a Thanksgiving dinner, you know the conflict of interest is too much. And family wins.
We are also working with Junito on interpersonal skills and everybody-wins-problem-solving. For example, the other day he didn’t want to share his eBuzz eLightyear with his hermana. He hit her for asking. Thus, despues de ponerlo en el timeout, I explained the importance of sharing and speaking, not yelling and hitting.
He kinda got the drift. The very next day, he and his sister got a little bit of pancito dulce. And what did my chele chulo do?
“Si, se puede comer un poquituito….”