Pathways | sportslaureate

Goodbye, it is, to most of that – most of that cricket, in any event. Age, infirmity and *life choices* have pointed me towards part-time work, but “my god” (as Sean Kelly might say) it hasn’t felt like that.

Selection sessions, winter nets then a belter of a summer on junior pathways: seeking ‘extras’ here and there to top up the dollars supply. Still loving it and still feeling like I can relate (and make a meaningful contribution) despite the swathe of geological time between me and The Lads – and it has mostly been lads. Overnighters at Brecon and Aber – the latter still amongst my favourite sporting gambols – and tremendously disparate match days or squad days from April to late August.

Objective A, as always, to make these wee humans fall in love with the idea (the need!) to move, commit, to ‘look after their mates.’ Objectives B-Z around feeding their sense that this charging about is fabulous and natural and must be an enriching, evolving, lifelong way of being. So in this cricket-thing, be a better bowler – I hope I can help; I have questions. And be a better batter (I hope I can help, but show me what you got). And be quicker and more attentive and more agile in the field – this will help with everything. Being active helps with everything.

Not sure if I’ve chosen to be the guy who is friendly and daft, who works at or close to the entry-level for hard-ball cricket, or if that niche chose me. (Every year I coach various age-groups but overwhelmingly the earthlings in front of me are 10 or 11). Am neither frustrated nor intimidated by the idea that *therefore* maybe I don’t work in Performance Sport. (Partly because maybe I do?) And, despite being mid-spectrum between clown and instructor I am deeply conscious of the responsibility coaches at this stage hold, towards supporting confidence in those who may often be shit-scared of the ball. I’ve had a fifty-year love affair with the feel of a new cricket ball but few juniors aged 10 remain unintimidated by that sacred nut. They know it hurts – or can do. And that fear (of course) makes getting hurt a whole lot more likely.

But in my entire coaching career – I dunno, thirty-odd years, now? – I have only seen two or three players genuinely hurt by the ball. One, perhaps inevitably, got an ‘egg’ above his temple; another an extreeeemely sore shin. No broken fingers or hands. Plenty scuffed or grazed elbows and knees… but ver-ry few injuries down to the pill itself. Loads of theatrical falls-after-the-event – and this maaay bee increasing, for which I blame Premier League footballers. It may well be politically incorrect to talk of ‘drama queens’, these days, but we are seeing some of that, for sure.

Kids are great though, eh? Still mad; still frantic or wonderfully free; still eating crap and listening less than you’d like.

Feeble digression – because it meant quite a lot. A young female coach recently told a small group of us coaches at a particular festival that she’d never seen kids listen like my group listened to me. I was touched by that. Hope it’s because I’m keeping it simple enough, appropriate enough: suspect it’s also because there’s always a joke – a giggle – in the pipeline. But yeh. I was touched by that.

Kids are great. Be honest, you want to run on and punch them when they get The Wildest of Run-outs *after wickets have been tumbling* but it happens. When the universe is screaming JUST HOLD and the coach is preaching calm and concentration. It happens because 10 year-olds are particularly (though not exclusively) vulnerable to Psychotic Contagion and they do ridicu-stuff when stressed. It’s bloody frustrating but also fabulously fascinating how often young players march out there, often too quickly, bat in hand, before succumbing to The Most Reckless Shot in Living Memory – a shot they’ve resolutely put away through 14 weeks of winter training then two spookily encouraging squad days. But the moment comes and they kinda want it over, one way or another*. They swish. And it is over.

(*Apologies to regular readers. Have repeatedly described this moment in the same or similar way. But it does fascinate me. And it does feel like they want it over).

The frequency of this event is startling and rich. That volume speaks to the power of the scrambled mind – across sports, across life. I love that one of the jobs for any coach/mentor/teacher (different roles, I appreciate) is to reconcile that sensational and cruel interface between a moment’s anxiety and the expression or execution of a skill.

It’s theoretically possible for a coach to be life-changing around this; by being sensitive to a player’s frailty (or otherwise) and providing a lead, a word and/or an environment which mitigates against ‘mind-less failure’ and towards confident execution. Mostly, in my experience, we fail, in the sense that our players continue to get out, with nerves being central to the dismissal. But supporting the player, building the environment, reinforcing the necessary skills can and does impact upon this – positively. ‘Grown-up’ players often reflect on how enjoyable and supportive their early experiences in the game are… and how important a particular coach was, in a) instilling or inspiring confidence and b) (therefore) kickstarting a journey they now know will be decades long. So go find me a job that’s more rewarding than that.

When not coaching I’ve been playing or travelling to play. Hilarious, given my age. But Seniors Sport – Seniors Cricket – *really is* a thing and I’m privileged and proud to have fallen into it.

I had almost no adult playing career because football, family life and work obscured that possibility. So I’ve been playing catch-up for the last three seasons, often alongside really good players who have had (I kid you not) half a century of Proper Cricket. I loved bowling as a kid and I still do: I’ve come back to it. Part of me still thinks I’m John Snow – or maybe Mike Hendrick, a less combative sort, from memory. I ‘run in’, or more exactly perhaps, I have failed so far to capitulate to bowling the leg-spin I know (actually) I could bowl. Because I love the feeling of a new cricket ball in my hand. I like and maybe even want the challenge of bowling the first over.

Mostly I’ve done okay, for mighty Llanrhian CC and for Wales 60s 3s and 4s. Unsurprisingly, I’m kinda play-cricket averse (us old guys know when we’ve bowled ok, yes?) so I’m not gonna quote stats at you. There have been highs and lows, including scrambling the winning run off the last ball of a 45 over semi-final game for Wales and then losing in the last over the following week(!) (Took three wickets in that final but was disappointed to concede significantly more runs than I would have liked. But hey, that’s sport. Kent were good and it really could have gone either way).

Enjoy my club cricket at an especially idyllic, mad-rural club but have found the camaraderie (and yeh, the craic) with Wales Seniors to be a revelation. So much so that at some stage I will surely write about it. Said it many times to many people over the last year or two but I’ve played a lot of sport: never enjoyed any of it as much as I’ve enjoyed the games with our posse of Superannuated Taffs. It’s a brotherhood I’m proud and privileged to belong to.

It’s gonna be a glo-o-orious da-a-aay. For me, you and Thom Yorke, probably. But maybe bit conflicted for our friends at the local cricketmob, who have just put back the first two weeks of the season, twenty-four hours before this prolonged blast of windy sunnystuff kicks in. Hey-ho. Funny old game.

Meanwhile, I’m spending all my money on cars – old, unfortunately, not new. Have somehow (albeit medium-temporarily, I hope) dropped into the Struggling Artist category, having forked-out again to indulge another self-published book. Should know better. Have been shocking at this capitalism lark all my freaking life but few things have suddenly conspired and yeh, am back worrying about buying son a pint or whether or not I should go down the caff for a restorative chat with a human, or a coffee. Makes me sad and makes me angry.

But this self-pity will pass; in part because I absolutely know which things have real value; in part because it won’t be long before a wedge of the see-me-through variety lands. Goddabe within a year. Plus cricket and walking and writing kaleidoscopic cobblers will keep me going. I am grounded and tough and hold top-notch CSE’s in living-on-the-cheap and witless defiance.

Still loving coaching on the national pathway. Great kids and overwhelmingly supportive families; outstanding colleagues to coach with or under. First *proper tingles* starting up, after an enjoyable but occasionally frost-bitten winter of indoor nets, as that first selection of the year launches into the Whatsapposphere. Midweek game may even happen, now that the monsoons have abated. Would be fabulous.

The limbs are currently willing, so it’s feasible that I may even play for three different sides, this year: local club, the mighty Pembs Seniors and maaaybee even one of the Wales Oldies representative sides. (Weird and embarrassing truth is some of this may be contingent upon money, as well as the increasing likelihood of mechanical breakdown – whether this be mine or the motor’s). Travel and socials are a wonder of the sporting realm, of course, but both imply expenditure. It may be hard to find or justify – but don’t tell the lads that.

Senior cricket in particular has been every bit as wonderful and daft and enriching and daft as you could ever imagine. Great blokes; good players; just oldish. Ploughing on, for now, under the delusion that the Gods of Happiness and Reward might trump the Get Real, Donkey cohort: it’s nailed-on that pain or pathway coaching will offer a break at some stage.

I don’t agree with everything that happens around our national junior pathway but I quite like the idea of players/families being able to submit video evidence as a sort of pre-trial gambit. (Dislike the word ‘trial’ but there’s no escaping the need to select, as county pathways sharpen towards excellence. Do I need to note that as someone who spent a decade or so as a Community Coach, I get that *opportunities* of a different sort are every bit as important as what the Candidates are doing?) Wee videos, shot by mum or dad on a phone, really might be a way of widening access (and not missing Real Players!) Believe counties in the Midlands piloted this idea a year or two ago: happy that our lot are accepting submissions of this kind for 13 year-olds and above.

Cricket does have particular issues to do with class/money/access/comfort-in-the-environment. I’m hoping that video can winkle open ways in for individuals who might not otherwise get their moment.

Probably indiscreet to say too much about the groups I’m involved with… but they tend to be junior juniors. So I can be loose and friendly and welcoming: the straight drive ain’t exactly incidental, but Priority Numero Uno is to make this a place these young humans wanna be. Even on a regional pathway. Sure it might be true that (depending on your catchment) a good number of the players coming in are club level, rather than ‘regional players’ but this only increases the imperative to get them confident.

We try to make it a giggle – unashamedly. Then have *friendly words* about shapes or strategies. We know what The Fundamentals are so maybe they get lots of goes at x and y. Lots of goes – feeling; adjusting; finding stuff – quite possibly un-instructed. Until some things are grooved, until there are instincts/movements which may or may not be the same (or as valuable as) understandings. The articulation of things can maybe come after the exercise or practice of things.

This week’s soundbite for coaches appears to be something about ‘making good shapes’: I can live with that. Are you seeing or feeling that shape, Johnnie? Are you, Sara? Does it feel balanced – do you feel like you can do it forever and ever, or hold that pose… and give the bowler a cheesy grin? Good.

Coaches are all different, thank god. It’s not natural for all of us to project Friendly Comedian-dom. I do reckon, though, that mostly, for small earthlings, we need to avoid the dry and the preachy. Preach enthusiasm – or preach with enthusiasm, maybe – but be open about the idea that everything depends. Depends upon whether they’re Jos Buttler. Depends whether they can time things, outrageously. Depends on their body-shapes and levels of fluency at *this stage of their development*. You may be coaching a genius or a clown. Both probably need to have lots of goes to find what works: ask good questions, offer your things to consider. Take care not to make them sound like instructions – they may know better than you!

One of the fellas coaching alongside is a) top and b) a former headteacher. (They’re all top but we two have spoken about modes of learning). We both like the idea of offering a whole lot of responsibility over to the kids, letting them take charge: once they’ve settled; once we’ve done drill z a couple of times, maybe. Junior juniors can sort out a meaningful practice on the theme of (say) attacking in the vee. You can ask them to organise it. They can talk or watch their mates; they can find a way. You can make it explicit that the coaches ‘are stepping out of this for fifteen minutes’ but that they/you are hoping for productive and helpful practice.

Watch for a bit. Review and compliment and ask more questions: ‘what kind of feed can you use? What kind of shot do we think we’re looking at, here? Oh – attacking – yeh, we did say that. Does that mean on the ground or aerial – do we know what aerial means? Both? Ok. So how about you decide whether in the next few minutes you’re going to go BIG, for six, or drill that baybee hard past the bowler for four. But fellas we are attacking, yes?’

We’ve done this. It’s worked. The kids have done minimal faffing abart. Typically they’ve tried hard to make it work as an exercise but maybe struggled to provide helpful feeds. Maybe talk about that: offer reminder about drop feed/bobble feed options. Stress that it’s important to help out your team-mates. They can’t practice this if the feed is two feet down leg. So part of being a player is helping your mates get better, yes? Our experience has been that a) they can make this work and b) it’s probably a very good way to learn.

Learning is good. MOT’s, meanwhile, are…