Chapter 6—Teamwork Emerges
The spring season was as different as night and day from our previous experience. Judy was acquainted with Cori, one of the moms on the team. She had played soccer in high school and was willing to coach. I volunteered to help. Cori hit the ground running at the first practice with a sign-up sheet for halftime oranges and postgame snacks. Best of all, our assigned practice locality included a lined soccer field!
Cori had an excellent demeanor. She was calm, with an upbeat coaching style. Under her tutelage, we embraced a more standard soccer model where she warmed up the team, introduced a skill, reinforced it with a drill, and then finished practice with a scrimmage. We worked on dribbling, passing, throw-ins, and spreading out. Spreading out was difficult for six-year-old players to comprehend. Their brains told them that the best way to get the ball was to run toward it regardless of whether a teammate or opponent had possession. For them, the idea of facilitating a pass by running away from a teammate who had the ball was counterintuitive. The coach who taught my soccer clinic called it bunch ball. Like dogs with the same favorite toy, our players wanted to run to the ball and compete for it. Cori and I tried to teach them that the ball would come to them if they could get open. It was one of those concepts that we introduced on many occasions. Using words to encourage players to spread out wasn’t productive. It didn’t matter how often we demonstrated, explained, or justified the concept; we couldn’t break the tendency to run to the ball. It occurred to me that we needed to retrain their brains, so with Cori’s permission, I emphasized the skill when we practiced throw-ins.
“When the ball goes off the field, there is usually a bunch of players around it. When the throw is ours, you must spread out so your teammate can get the ball to you. We are going to practice spreading out,” I explained. “First, we need to bunch up,” I said as I picked up a ball and held it to my chest. Then I shouted, “Bunch!” and waited for the team to encircle me. They hesitated but gradually formed a giggling pod.
I raised the ball over my head as if I was going to throw it onto the field and shouted, “Spread!” Players tentatively fanned out around me, and I threw the ball to one who was farthest away. Instantly, everyone seemed to understand what was necessary to receive the ball. “Bunch!” The pod formed again. “Spread!” Players quickly dispersed farther and more enthusiastically. With many of them in good positions, I rewarded one with the ball. Then I handed the ball to one of Owen’s teammates, and we practiced a few more times. The drill was simple, fun, and evoked competition between players, but the best thing was that it ingrained a response to the “spread” command. Our players lacked situational awareness to recognize when to spread out, but after the drill, they knew how to respond to the call. Still, weeks went by before anyone embraced the concept. When the breakthrough came, it was remarkable, and Owen and Jackson opened the floodgates.
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A corner kick is how gameplay is restarted when a ball, last touched by a defender, goes off the field over the end line without a goal being scored. It is awarded to the attacking team, and the kick is taken from the corner nearest where the ball left the field. Ideally, a corner kick goes directly into the goal or to a teammate, but we were playing bunch ball, which meant that the ball encountered a mob almost as soon as it entered the field of play. The innovation came during a game when Owen and Jackson, who had been soccer buddies all winter, figured out that a corner kick was a great opportunity to spread out and play together.
As Jackson lined up to take a corner kick, players from both teams bunched in front of him. Owen was on the edge of the mob, frustrated that he couldn’t get Jackson’s attention. In desperation, he stepped away from the group into the surrounding open space. His movement immediately caught Jackson’s eye, and their training took over. As Jackson shifted his feet to kick the ball to his friend, Owen had a moment of greater insight. He saw that the goal was undefended and signaled to Jackson as he ran to it. Jackson understood the message, and instead of kicking the ball to the pod of players clustered around him, he sent a rolling line drive in Owen’s direction. The ball lost momentum as it traveled and was barely moving when it reached its intended target. Owen handled it efficiently, trapped it, then tapped it in.
Cheers erupted from the parents while Owen and Jackson high-fived each other and the rest of the team. I was elated; it was a clever play. The most impressive thing about it was the teamwork. I looked at Judy and said, “Wow, where did that come from?” She laughed and shook her head.
Meanwhile, the game continued. About three minutes later, both teams found themselves in the same situation. As Jackson prepared to take the corner kick and Owen lined up in front of the undefended goal, coaches and parents from the other team desperately shouted in vain for someone to cover Owen, but their players were bunched up and focused on the ball. Jackson kicked another line drive to Owen, who knocked it in. It was too easy and too good to last. A few minutes later, it was déjà vu all over again, but the other team had gotten the message. Two defenders sandwiched Owen between them, Jackson’s kick was not as good, and his pass was intercepted.
The breakthrough tipped the score in our favor. More importantly, our players began to understand the advantages of spreading out.
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That spring, Owen emerged as an exceptional dribbler. Most soccer players have two feet, but not all can dribble a ball equally well with both. Owen was fortunate to be one of the few who could. He had a grandma and grandpa who were left-handed. Those genes gave him an atypical set of abilities: he threw a ball with his right hand but batted a ball and wrote with his left. When he kicked a ball, he had nearly equal ability with both feet, a condition known as “two-footed.” The ability gave him an ease with the ball that most players did not have. He was especially good in a crowd. I witnessed his ability on an occasion when I was arms-length from him. I was on the sideline, but so close to the action I could smell sweat and hear breathing as four players battled in a bunch-ball stalemate. They kicked and stabbed at the ball like a confused octopus. Seconds ticked by, and the stalemate continued long enough for Owen to join. He ran to the group, picked a gap between two players, and raised his arms like the V on a snowplow. Then he drove through the pile. Players flew like characters in a Loony Tunes cartoon, and Owen emerged with the ball and was on the run.
When things went well, the soccer season flew by. We won about half of our games and were competitive in all. There was a feeling of accomplishment because we jelled as a team, Owen became a standout dribbler, and I began to understand my role. I was comfortable with the way games were played and knew what referees expected. Despite my inexperience with soccer, I was confident that my athletic knowledge was adequate to improve the skills and techniques of our young players. I successfully led practices in Cori’s absence on several occasions, utilizing her coaching style. The whole experience differed from the previous undertaking, which had felt like a constant struggle. The new routine was one of organized player development, improvement, and fun.
By Memorial Day, the season was over; two weeks later, school was out. Unfortunately, our team did not stay together. Jackson and his family moved away. Despite Judy’s skill at the registration game, Owen was assigned to a different group and a new coach for the upcoming fall season.
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