From the Founder, Brian Mazza 9/7
As a Father, I Felt Terrible. As a Coach, I Did the Right Thing.
There is a fine line every mother or father walks when they coach their own child.
And when your child can really play, that line becomes even harder to hold.
This weekend, I had to make a decision that broke my heart as a father but made complete sense as a coach.
I sat my son for the first half of our semifinal.
Based on his performance in the previous game, he wasn’t holding the standard required to start. So I went with a different lineup that I believed gave our team the best opportunity to win.
That was the decision.
No favoritism. No guaranteed spot. No “but that’s my son.”
And I hated every second of it.
Because behind the coach is still a father who knows his kid. I know how badly he wants it. I know how much he cares. I know the disappointment he was probably carrying while sitting there watching.
For almost 48 hours, I had that homesick feeling in my stomach.
Did I let him down?
Did I hurt him?
Was I too hard on him?
Then I kept coming back to the same question:
What am I actually preparing my son for?
Life is hard.
Our children are growing up in a world of social media, comparison, instant gratification, unrealistic expectations and constant noise. We cannot control all of that.
But we can prepare them for it.
Nothing is guaranteed.
Nothing meaningful comes for free.
Your last performance doesn’t guarantee your next opportunity.
And sometimes someone else earns the spot you wanted.
Even when your father is the coach.
I know plenty of dads who would struggle to make that decision. I understand why. The pressure is real. But I can’t preach accountability to every other player and then abandon it when accountability reaches my own son.
If I believe in the standard, then my son has to live by it too.
Maybe even more so.
The conversations afterward weren’t angry. They weren’t personal. They were sincere, constructive and real.
This is where you fell short. This is what is expected. And this is what you need to do next.
Then this morning, he gave me my answer.
He got up and went to train for three hours with a select group.
No excuses.
Back to work.
Maybe one day he’ll tell me sitting that semifinal was exactly what he needed.
Maybe he won’t.
But I know this:
As a father, I wanted to protect his feelings.
As a coach, I had to protect the standard.
And as difficult as that was, I believe one of the greatest things we can give our children isn’t protection from disappointment.
It’s the tools to respond to it.
Because eventually Dad won’t be the coach.
And life won’t care who your father is.
You have to earn your spot.
