Golden Rule Of Coaching

I mentioned once before that I decided I needed to be coaching soccer on a whim. Here's how it all started.

I was sitting at my desk one day surfing the internet for potential jobs for my boyfriend, when I came across a coaching ad for a high school. I thought about applying, but the school was a good 25 miles from work in the opposite direction of where I live. Not do-able.

But I wanted to apply so bad. SO bad. I mulled over it for a while, then made a decision. I sent an e-mail to the head coach at a local private high school, and went to lunch.

Not 20 minutes after I sent this e-mail, I received a phone call. I was hired on the spot! And they were going to pay me! SWEET!

So suddenly I was a coach, and while I was a little apprehensive for the first day of practice, I had no idea what these girls were going to throw at me.

Golden Rule Of Coaching Teenage Girls
EXPECT ANYTHING

Seriously.

On day two of practice, one of the girls ran off the field crying after asking me to go to the bathroom. I had to blink and look twice.

"Should I go after her?" I asked Stu.

Of course I should have, and I did. Off I go at a jog, wait outside the bathroom, listen for a second in case she really did just need to use the loo ... and in I go.

And yes, she was crying.

"What's going on, girl?" Sympathetic, understanding, nice smile.

"My friend on the team.." Sob. "Is mad at me." Sob. "Because her friend's boyfriend..." Sob. "Cheated on her friend.." Big sob. "With me!"

Wait. Hold on. Rewind. How old are you?

I had to take a deep breath to keep from laughing. Instead, I gave her a big hug and said I understood.

I didn't.

I'm a total tomboy. I didn't have any interest in boys until I got to college. Boy drama? Not in my life! Oi vei!

Anyway, I must have said the right thing, probably something along the lines of 'use all this anger and frustration on the field'. Away she went, and evidently, everything is fine.

Fast forward a couple weeks, and we're down south playing a tough match. One of my favorite players forgets her sports bra and has to borrow one from one of her friends. It's too small.



Stu, being a man, comes stomping over to me, points to said girl, and yells, "I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH HER AND WHY SHE'S PULLING ON HER BRA BUT YOU NEED TO FIX IT RIGHT NOW!"

Okay, Coach, I've got it!

"What's going on, girl?"

Why do I keep asking?

The sports bra was so tight she couldn't breath. My solution? Cut the elastic. Of course, that brings forth a string of protest.

It's not my bra! Don't cut my bra! It's fine, I can go back in!

Face. Palm.

Stu, in the meantime, is screaming for said girl to get back on the field, and is looking at me like I have all the answers.

"Put someone elses' bra on.."

No one is willing to give up their sports bra.

Finally, after much cajoling, said girl and other girl and I march down to the woods behind the field, where they proceed to switch bras. Said girl goes back on the field, and has no more problems.

Moral of the story? Don't forget your sports bra!

Dilemma solved, the game went on, and after all was said and done, Stu comes over and sits down next to me, shaking his head.

"Thank god you're here."