Coaching Isn’t Hard Because of Football
Written by The Sporting Resource
This is for anyone thinking about becoming a coach, already coaching, or quietly wondering why it feels heavier than expected.
If you’re thinking about becoming a coach, just know this.
It’s not about sessions, tactics, or trophies.
It’s about people.
That’s the part nobody really prepares you for.
Because the moment you step into coaching, you carry more than a whistle. You carry responsibility, emotion, expectation, and a strange kind of care that doesn’t switch off when the session ends.
You’ll give everything to players who don’t yet understand what you’ve done for them. Not because they’re ungrateful. Because they’re children. They’re still figuring themselves out and that’s okay.
Most of them will only realise it years later, often when they’re older and often, when they’re coaching someone else and suddenly recognise the patience it took to keep showing up.
The Weight You Don’t See From the Outside
You’ll meet parents who see football through their own lens.
Their child.
Their hopes.
Their fears.
Their unfinished business.
Sometimes that lens will clash with yours.
Not because either of you is a bad person, but because you’re looking at the same moment from completely different places.
In those moments, pride feels tempting. Certainty feels safe, but patience lasts longer.
They won’t remember the argument you won.
They’ll remember how you handled the tension.
Results Are a Dangerous Place to Live
You’ll be called a “good coach” when you’re winning.
You’ll be questioned the moment you’re not.
That swing is brutal if you let it define you. If you tie your worth to results, this game will break you. Quietly. Slowly. Repeatedly.
Tie it to people, and everything changes.
Because then you understand why defeats hit harder than most people realise.
Why do you replay moments in your head late at night?
Why do you keep asking yourself what you could’ve done differently?
That’s not a weakness. That’s care.
The Parts Nobody Sees
You’ll miss dinners.
You’ll plan sessions when you should be resting.
You’ll carry a low-level family guilt you can’t quite explain to anyone who hasn’t coached.
You’ll think about the players who didn’t play.
You’ll worry about the quiet ones who never cause problems but feel heavier somehow.
You’ll notice changes in behaviour before anyone else does.
And sometimes, all they’ll need from you isn’t brilliance.
It’s belief.
Football Is the Smallest Part of the Job
Football is the easy bit, that’s maybe 10 per cent of the role. The other 90 per cent is listening when it would be easier to instruct.
Staying calm when others escalate.
Guiding without controlling.
Helping young people figure themselves out in a world that keeps telling them who they should be.
There are no medals for that, no headlines and often no end-of-season awards.
The Feedback Comes Late
One day, often years later, someone will message you out of the blue.
“Thanks, coach. You made a difference.”
That’s the real trophy.
Not because it proves you were right, but because it confirms something you hoped was true while you were doing the unseen work. Coaching isn’t about the game; it’s about growth, yours and theirs. The impact rarely shows up when you want it to, but when it does, it lasts a lifetime.
And that’s not a flaw in coaching, that’s the point.
