The Rule You Add Is the Game You Get

I want to talk about something that sounds simple but has massive implications for how you run your practices.

A rule. One rule. And what it does to the game your players actually play.

In 2012, researchers Almeida, Ferreira, and Volossovitch published a study in The Open Sports Sciences Journal that I keep coming back to. They took eight U-13 players, split them into two teams, and put them through the same 3v3 small-sided game under three different conditions: free-form (no extra rules), two touches maximum, and four passes required before a shot.

Same players. Same field size. Same game format. Three completely different rule sets. And the results? Three completely different games.

Here's what they found.

Free-Form: The Individualists

When there were no constraints, players defaulted to individual expression. More 1v1 duels. More decisions to take people on rather than play through. Shorter passing sequences — not because the players couldn't pass, but because they didn't need to. The ball moved freely, attacks developed naturally, and the game looked good. But it also looked a lot like players solving problems for themselves rather than together.

Free-form produced the most "individualistic approach," as the researchers put it. And there's value in that — it's where you see who can genuinely take someone on, who reads space intuitively, who competes. But it's also where some players hide, because there's no structural pressure to connect.

Two Touches: The Fast Game

The two-touch rule produced the shortest possessions, the fewest ball touches, and the fastest collective rhythm. Players had to think before the ball arrived. They had to move to give angles. The game sped up — which sounds like a problem, but actually mirrors professional soccer more closely than you'd expect. Research by Dellal et al. (2011) found that elite players at professional level average close to two touches per possession anyway. So in a way, the two-touch game is the most game-realistic constraint in this study.

What was most interesting to me: the two-touch rule also produced the most offensive sequences (106, versus 93 free-form and only 67 with four passes). Faster play meant more transitions, more opportunities, more exposure to game moments. And despite being the condition with the fewest touches per player, it actually produced the most goals.

The catch? It kills 1v1 dribbling development. If you run two-touch all session, every session, your players lose the conditions they need to practice beating people. As the researchers note directly: "the two-touches playing rule does not provide to youngsters the best circumstances to develop the dribbling actions useful in 1v1 situations."

This is the unintended consequence I talk about in my book. The constraint you choose shapes behavior — and not always in the direction you planned.

Four Passes to Score: The Collective Game

This one fascinated me most. The four-pass rule produced the longest possessions (over 20 seconds on average, compared to 9.5 seconds for two-touch), the most passes, the most players involved in each sequence, and — here's the counterintuitive part — the fewest shots. But when players did shoot? They scored at a rate of 53%, versus 25% free-form and 31% two-touch.

Four passes to score forced teams to find better quality chances. It demanded collective involvement. You couldn't score without working together first. And the data showed it: more players involved per sequence, more passes per player, more genuine team play in the attacking phase.

But it also produced more variability, more mistakes, and ultimately fewer shots on goal. When you force teams to build before they can shoot, the game slows, defenses organize, and free space disappears. Players are working against an organized defensive structure almost every time. That's hard. And it shows in the numbers.

So What Does This Mean for You?

The point isn't that one rule is better than the others. They each do something different. That's exactly the point.

Two-touch makes your game faster and more realistic for older players, but it shouldn't be your default. Free-form gives players the chance to self-organize, compete individually, and express themselves — which matters, especially at younger ages. Four passes develops collective play and teaches teams to be patient and connected in attack. But overuse it, and you're training a game that doesn't quite exist.

I've spoken about this on the Heads and Volleys Podcast (Ep. 48, Constraints on Practice and Players, with Ben Bell) and written about it in my book 1v1's Outside the Box. The principle is the same every time: every constraint you add to a practice has consequences. Some intended, some not. A four-goal game produces more turns — Pulling, Twitchen, and Pettefer (2016) confirmed that. An end zone rewards line-breaking runs. A pass count constrains shot timing and can force your striker to delay finishing a clear chance.

The researchers put it well: "The modification of game rules should be carefully pondered and applied for specific purposes, when planning youth soccer training sessions."

Not randomly. Not habitually. With purpose.

Before you add a constraint to your next session, ask yourself three questions:

What behavior am I trying to develop? What does this rule actually encourage players to do? And what does it accidentally discourage?

If you can answer all three clearly, you're planning well. If you're adding it because it looked organized or kept the session moving — that's worth revisiting.

The rule you add is the game you get. Make sure it's the game you want.

Almeida, C.H., Ferreira, A.P., Volossovitch, A. (2012). Manipulating Task Constraints in Small-Sided Soccer Games: Performance Analysis and Practical Implications. The Open Sports Sciences Journal, 5, 174-180.

Dellal, A., Chamari, K., Owen, A.L., Wong, D.P., Lago-Penas, C., Hill-Haas, S. (2011). Influence of technical instructions on the physiological and physical demands of small-sided soccer games. European Journal of Sport Science, 11(5), 341-6.

Pulling, C., Twitchen, A., Pettefer, C. (2016). Goal Format in Small-Sided Soccer Games: Technical Actions and Offensive Scenarios of Prepubescent Players. Sports, 4(4), 53.

1v1's Outside the Box. LeeDunneSoccer.

Ep. 48 Constraints on Practice and Players. Heads and Volleys Podcast.

@LeeDunneSoccer

The Balance Bike Theory

What's the Balance Bike of Soccer?

A couple of weeks back I taught my daughter how to ride a bike. And yeah, I know — every kid learns to ride a bike, it's not exactly breaking news. But the way we did it? That's what got me thinking.

I picked up a balance bike off Facebook Marketplace for twenty bucks. Thing was rusted, a bit cranky, but it did exactly what it needed to do. We've got a slanted driveway at home, so she'd push off at the top and balance her way down while I caught her at the bottom. Ten minutes in, she was flying. We broke out the chalk, drew a little course, and she was whipping around it like she'd been doing it for years.

She'd mastered the one thing that mattered. Balance. Everything else just followed.

So then she said "let's get my bike out." I'd already taken the training wheels off. She sat on it, I gave her a little push, and she was gone — pedaling around the block with me chasing behind her. Under an hour, start to finish.

That balance bike is probably the best $20 I've ever spent.

And it got me thinking: what's the balance bike of soccer?

What's the one thing — that single foundation — that when a player has it, everything else starts to click? For young players just starting out, for your high school team, for your college squad? What's that thing you can give them that unlocks the rest?

Some coaches would say it's technical ability. Others would point to positional understanding, tactical awareness, game intelligence. Rondos became a balance bike for a lot of coaches — give the players a consistent experience that teaches them your style, and the rest grows from there. I get that.

But for me? It's confidence.

I'll tell you where that comes from. I played for a coach who yelled constantly. I had teammates who'd lose their minds any time someone made a mistake. And I felt it — felt the pressure building, felt myself tensing up on the ball, second-guessing, playing within myself. I wasn't performing anywhere near what I was capable of, because every touch felt like it was being judged.

Eventually I just stopped going. I didn't want to be in that environment anymore.

And we see it happen all the time. That attrition cliff at 13, 14, 15 years old — players dropping out of the game. A lot of people think it's because soccer isn't fun, or life gets busy, or other sports get in the way. But honestly? I think a huge part of it is that they stopped feeling good in their teams. They stopped feeling confident. And when that goes, they go.

So what does it actually look like to build confidence in your environment?

For me, it starts in training. I use small-sided games — 3v3, 4v4, 5v5 — and I use plus players instead of neutrals, because I want to replicate real game moments as much as possible. And in the middle of that, when I see a player do something well, I catch them. Specific feedback. "That was excellent. Here's the one thing I'd love you to work on. Go home and try this tonight."

Then I shoot a message to the parents. "She had a great session today. She's starting to really understand this moment. Here's the homework I've set — just check in on her, not to push her, just to ask how it's going." That little bit of accountability closes the loop. And when they come back and I ask how it went? That conversation alone builds something in them.

Is that a lot of work? Yes. You've got 12 to 18 players on your roster. You can't do that with every single one every single session. But even if you reach half of them? You've got kids going home and practicing. You've got kids starting pickup games at school. That's the culture difference we're always chasing. I grew up in England where kids just played everywhere — in the street, in the park, anywhere. That doesn't happen here as naturally, but confidence is how you get closer to it.

One more thing, and this one's easy to miss: protect it in your team environment. There's nothing wrong with "come on, let's go" in the moment. But the second a player is sniping at a teammate for making a mistake — especially one you challenged them to try — you've got to get in front of that. That stuff kills confidence quietly, and it changes the whole culture of what you're building.

Think about what your balance bike is. Maybe it's confidence, maybe it's something else, and if it is I genuinely want to hear it.

Listen to the full episode here 👉 Episode 95 - The Balance Bike

And come find me on Twitter/X — @LeeDunneSoccer — I'm always up for the conversation.

Your Players Need to Self Reflect

Do You Actually Know How Your Players Feel About Soccer?

I've always pushed the idea of two points of contact with every player in every session. One coaching point — something about their game, something they can work on. And one personal connection — how's the dog, how was the school show, what's going on in their life outside of soccer. Build that in consistently and over time it changes everything about the relationship you have with your players.

But here's the thing. When you're coaching two or three teams, actually doing that is hard. Really hard. You can try to catch everyone but some nights you're just trying to keep the session together.

So I started looking for ways to speed it up — and what I landed on was something I'm now using at my club. We call it a self-reflection.

It's simple. We push it out through our software and ask players to answer a few questions. No judgment, no grades, no consequences. Just honest answers.

The first question is: on a scale of one to five, how do you identify as a soccer player? Five means soccer is you — it's everything, you eat and breathe it. One means you play, you enjoy it, but it doesn't define you. Growing up I was a hard five. Everything was football. But plenty of the kids you're working with right now are twos and threes, and that's completely fine. The power isn't in judging the number. The power is in knowing it.

I had a kid a couple of years back who gave himself a five — total soccer player, loves it. But he was missing practice once a week. I was confused by it. Turned out his mom wanted him to play baseball too. He didn't really want to, but that's what the family had decided. I had no idea until I asked. Once I knew, I could have a totally different conversation with both him and his parents.

The second question is around attitude. Out of five, how committed are you to getting better? Are you showing up to improve, or are you here because you enjoy being here and that's enough? And look — both are valid answers. Not every kid on your team has the same ambitions and that's okay. But you need to know which is which, because the way you coach a five is completely different from the way you coach a two.

The third question is about challenge. How do you handle it? Do you want to be pushed? Are you ready to step up? Some kids are screaming for it and won't tell you. Some are quietly terrified and won't tell you either. This question opens the door.

Now here's where it gets interesting. I was at a convention in Philadelphia and heard a professor named Mark Williams — he works at Manchester United — present on talent identification. And his core message was that we consistently get it wrong. We pick the bigger, faster, stronger kids at nine and ten years old, stack our top teams with them, and give the smaller kids volunteer coaches and lower expectations. Then we wonder why so many of those "studs" aren't studs anymore by twelve.

The late developers, the smaller kids who had to fight harder and earn everything — those are often the ones who end up going the furthest. Because they built grit while the early bloomers were just coasting on physicality. And when I ask players how they handle challenge in a self-reflection, I'm starting to get a picture of who's built for the long game.

The last piece is a text question: who do you want to be as a soccer player this year? Not just "better" — actually describe it. Bigger? Faster? More technical? Do you want to play up an age group? Do you want to challenge for a starting spot? Can you articulate it? Because if they can write it down, now I can coach to it. Now every point of contact I have with that player throughout the season is anchored to something they told me they wanted.

And here's the coaching gold: when that player comes to training and I see them doing exactly what they said they wanted to work on, I can catch them — "hey, that's your five right there" — and suddenly that self-reflection from three weeks ago has come to life in the session. That's how you build the kind of relationship where players actually feel seen. Not because you have superhuman memory, but because you asked the right questions and kept the answers.

This doesn't take extra time. It takes a few minutes of setup through whatever platform you're using. And if a player doesn't fill it in? Honestly, that probably tells you something too.

The best thing you can do for your players isn't always on the training field. Sometimes it's just asking the right questions and actually listening to the answers.

Listen to the full episode here 👉 Heads and Volleys - Episode 94 Self Reflections

And come find me on Twitter/X — @LeeDunneSoccer — I'm always up for the conversation.

A Successful Game Day, Part 2

How I Coach on Game Day — From Kickoff to the Car Ride Home

If you caught Part 1 of this series, we covered everything leading up to kickoff — the warmup, Friday evening communication, Saturday morning prep, how to get your team ready before the whistle goes. This is Part 2. This is what happens once the game actually starts.

First thing: game day planner in your hand. Timer running. That's it, that's how we begin.

The Eye Test

In the first few minutes, I'm not coaching my players. I'm watching the opponent. What formation are they in? How does it match up to ours? Where are the overloads, where are the mismatches? I'm almost playing it like a video game in my head. Then I'm watching their players — who looks quick, who looks slow, who looks like they're going to be a problem. Nine times out of ten your first impressions are right, especially at grassroots level.

Then I look at their coach. Are they yelling? Pacing? Calm? Five assistants or just themselves? This matters more than people give it credit for. If they're a screamer and I know it, I've got a decision to make — do I wind them up and let the referee sort it out, or do I just focus on my side? Either way, I want to know what I'm dealing with.

My subs at the start of the game? I just tell them to sit back and watch. What do you see? That's their job. No task yet — that comes when they come off the field.

In the Game

With my planner in hand I'm tracking the goals we set. Not just watching the game — actually measuring. How many times did we switch play? How many times did we force them to turn it over? I'm making marks. This is what keeps me objective when I'm tempted to just react to everything I see.

When I pull a player, I give them hot feedback — quick, specific, actionable. We needed a bit more of X, watch for Y when they have the ball wide. Then I send them to get water and keep watching. They're learning even when they're not on the field.

Half Time

Whistle goes. I walk onto the field and high five every player. Doesn't matter what the score is. Come on, let's go. Everybody sit down, grab a drink.

And then — no parents. I mean it. There is nothing worse than a parent fussing around trying to find water in a bag or wiping someone's face. Get out of here. They'll figure it out. Nobody's going to die of thirst in two minutes.

First question: any injuries or issues? Second: here's how we did on Goal A. Here's how we did on Goal B. Specific, short, tied to what we talked about before the game. Then I give the lineup for the second half and we go. That's it. Clean, fast, back on the field.

If there's a couple of minutes to spare before kickoff I'm not standing there doing a tactical deep dive. I'm walking around, giving individual attention. Hey, that was a nice bit of play. I see what you're trying to do there. Keep going. Not coaching — connecting.

After the Game

Shake hands. Every time. "Thank you for the game, Coach." Even if the other coach was a nightmare the whole way through. Especially then, actually. I don't say "good game" — I just say thank you. Then I thank the referee. Without them, we don't play. It's consistent, it's clean, and it sets the tone for your players watching you do it.

Huddle the team. Walk shoulder to shoulder in front of the parents, clapping. Thank you for coming, thank you for the support. Quick recap on the goals — what we did well, what we'll build on — and then we're done. Get your stuff. Go get some food.

Monday Morning

This is where a lot of coaches stop doing the work. Don't.

Send a message to the families Monday morning. A short one. Thank them for their support. Say something real about the game — not the score, the goals. Goal A was switching the play — here's what we were going for and here's where we got to. Goal B was forcing turnovers — we did it well in the first half and dropped off a little in the second. That's it.

If you've got game film, share the link — but give them a task. Ask your players to send you two timestamps where they saw Goal A or Goal B happening. Now they actually have to watch it. Now it means something.

When families have something specific to look for, car rides change completely. It stops being "why is that kid always playing" and starts being "you guys were really going for it with the press today." That's not nothing. That's you quietly educating the people around your players. And when they start to understand what you're building, you've got everyone pulling in the same direction.

That's the whole game day system. It's a lot when you look at it all at once, but when it becomes your routine it runs itself — and your players will feel the difference.

Listen - Heads and Volleys Podcast, Episode 93

@LeeDunneSoccer

Mastering Game Day, Part 1

Game Day Starts Before You Ever Reach the Field

Everything we do as coaches is about the game. The way you train, the players you pick at tryouts, the formation you set — it all points back to the same thing. So it's worth asking: does your game day routine actually reflect the amount of work you put in to prepare for it?

This came out of a reflection I did at the end of last season at the club. We use a platform called Sprocket for team communication, and I can see everything — coaches who are sending consistent updates to families, coaches who are wishing parents happy Thanksgiving, and coaches who are barely saying a word. I also run family satisfaction surveys at the end of the season, and the pattern is pretty consistent: the coaches with the highest satisfaction scores are the ones with the most consistent communication. It doesn't matter if they won all their games or lost most of them. The families felt connected to what was happening, and that made all the difference.

So let's talk about how you actually build that. And it starts long before game day.

Preseason Setup

Before a ball gets kicked, there's a list of things I want every coach to work through. Have you asked your families for their expectations? Have you set yours? Things like arrival times, kit, behavioral standards on the sideline, the 48-hour rule, post-game activities. Have you communicated your game model and your style of play? Do the families know what a 4-3-3 looks like and why you're using it?

Have you introduced a season plan — even a simple one? "We have 10 games. The first five are our learning phase. By game six and seven, here's what we want to see. The end-of-season tournament is our test." That's it. Families who know what you're building are families who are patient, invested, and supportive.

All of this stuff that coaches skip in preseason is what creates confusion and frustration midseason. Get it done early, and you'll spend a lot less time putting out fires later.

Friday Communication

Every Friday before a game, your families and players get a message. Not an essay — a message. This is what we worked on this week. Here's why. Here's what to look for from the sideline on Saturday. Two goals for the game, one attacking and one defensive.

For example: our attacking goal this week is switching the play. We've been working on moving the ball quickly from one side to the other to get in behind the defense. Look for us to try that. It might not always work, but you should see us attempting it. Our defensive goal is to make play predictable — press well, set traps, force them into turnovers. We'll track both of those through the game.

When parents know what to look for, the car ride home changes. It stops being "why was he playing there?" and starts being "I saw them switching the play a couple of times in the second half." That's everything.

Saturday Morning

Short message. "Can't wait. Here's the field, here's the parking situation, don't forget we're going for pizza after." That's it. Keep it light. They've already got the important stuff from Friday.

Arrive vs. Ready

This one matters more than people realize. I don't say "be there at 11:15." I say "arrive by 11:00, boots on and ready at 11:15." There's a difference. And at 11:15, the team talk starts — whether I have 5 players there or 15. That's the standard. I don't punish the kids who showed up on time by waiting around for the ones who didn't.

The team talk itself is short. Reminder of the goals, reminder of what we've been working on. Here's the formation. Here's the lineup. I don't ask questions. I tell them. We'll figure things out together on the field — the team talk is about clarity, not discussion.

The Warm Up

I follow a consistent structure every game. We start with an adapted 11+ for warm up — dynamic movements, quick touches, get them excited. Then 3v1 rondos, middle player in for 20 seconds, rotate, four rounds total. Then a 4v4 plus three, defenders and attackers rotating through. Ten to twenty minutes before kickoff — depending on age — we go into attack vs. defense. For 7v7 it's a 3v3 with one keeper, three plus players on halfway who rotate in. For 11v11 it scales up accordingly.

If I've got time with older players I'll add a 2v2 to goal — two defenders either side, two attackers, ball in, combine, score. It's not the most glamorous drill but the energy is right. Competition, aggression, desire — that's what I want in the last few minutes before we kick off.

Then we come in. Captains go do the coin toss. Final look at the tactics board. Subs get their pennies. Team huddle, cheer, let's go.

If you're reading this thinking "that's a lot" — you're right. But it becomes nothing once it's your routine. The goal this winter is to build it in practice first. Ask your team to arrive a bit early, run through the full game day warm-up, do it for four weeks. By the time spring season starts, your players will know exactly what's coming every single week, and there will be zero surprises.

That consistency is the foundation everything else is built on.

Listen - Heads and Volleys Podcast, Episode 92

@LeeDunneSoccer

Can You Recreate the Game in Practice?

The Only Question That Matters When You Plan a Training Session

I've spent years planning sessions, delivering model sessions for coaching licenses, and watching other coaches train their teams. And honestly, after all of that, I think everything comes down to one question.

Is it game-like?

Before you switch off — this isn't me telling you small-sided games are the only way, or that isolated technical work has no place in your sessions. That's not where I'm going. There's no absolute right or wrong way to run a training session. You know your players, you coach your way. But understanding what "game-like" actually means will make everything you do more effective, regardless of your approach.

So what does game-like actually mean?

The only truly game-like environment is 11v11. That's the game. Everything else — every drill, every small-sided game, every rondo — is a simulation. The question is how close to the real thing your simulation gets.

Think about what the actual game involves. There's direction — you're attacking a goal, you're in someone else's space trying to score, and they're trying to do the same to you. There's an opponent who's working against you. There are winners and losers. And there are rules — throw-ins, corners, goal kicks, fouls, offside. All of it.

But if you had to strip it down to one thing, I'd say the most important element is intensity.

I once lost a game 12-0 in a tournament. And I mean this when I say it — it was so quiet in the middle of that game you could literally hear cars starting in the parking lot. Zero intensity. Our opponent was just too strong, there was no chance of getting anything going, and the whole game became a non-event. That's about as far from game-like as you can get.

When I look at any training activity now, that's the lens I use. Is there intensity here? Is there something at stake? Does it feel like anything matters?

Why small-sided games work — and when they don't

Small-sided games work because you can get competition, direction, winners and losers, and real game moments all in one activity. A 4v4 to four goals, a 5v5 with target players — all of that builds towards intensity. And in play-practice-play sessions, the two playing phases give players real exposure to game situations, which translates directly to the weekend.

But here's the thing: small-sided games only deliver if you're managing them properly. The criticism — "they just play games, there's no coaching" — is sometimes valid. If your games don't have clearly identified winners and losers, if the teams aren't balanced, if there's no structure to the competition, then it does just become a playground kickaround. And the parents watching from the sideline would be right to question it.

Reward the winners. Don't punish the losers — losing is tough enough and you want them to care about the result naturally. But make it mean something. Who picks the pinnies? Who starts with the ball? Who gets to choose the next game? There are a hundred ways to make winning matter without making losing feel like punishment.

What about technical work?

If you're doing isolated skill work — everyone has a ball, working on a specific technique — how do you make that game-like?

Start with competition, even in individual work. Everyone has a ball, working on pullbacks — who can do the most in 30 seconds? Cheer them on, create a moment. That's not nothing. That's intensity in a different form.

But then ask yourself: how quickly can you get an opponent involved? Because here's the thing — a skill is only a skill if you can use it in the game. If you're working on pullbacks and the next activity is a face-up 2v2 where the ball is played in and you're looking at goal, a pullback is the worst thing you could do — you're going backwards toward your own net. The crowd would be going crazy. That's a disconnect between what you trained and what the game requires.

Think about the context before you pick the technique. Is this moment game-realistic? Would a player actually use this here? Because if what you practice in training has no logical home in the game, the translation won't happen. Players play how they practice, but only when what they practice looks like what they play.

The challenge

You get two, maybe three hours a week with your players. That's not much. My challenge to you is to make it as game-like as possible as quickly as possible in those sessions. That means competition from the first whistle. That means winners and losers that mean something. That means rules that mirror the real game.

And every time you're about to run something in training, just ask the one question: is it game-like?

Heads and Volleys Podcast, Episode 91

@LeeDunneSoccer

Soft Skills Win.

The Part of Coaching Nobody Talks About Enough

You can have the best session plan in the world. You can know your formation inside out, run a perfect warm-up, and nail every coaching point. But if your players don't feel seen, if their families don't trust what you're doing, and if your team is just a bunch of individuals who happen to wear the same kit — none of it matters as much as it should.

That's what soft skills are. Not the X's and O's. The relationships. The community. The stuff that turns a soccer season into something people actually remember.

Every player, every session

I talk about this a lot — the two-point contact rule. Every player, every training session, gets two moments with you. One coaching point: something specific to their game, a question about a decision they made, feedback they can actually use. And one personal connection: how was the vacation, what's the dog's name, how'd the school play go?

Doesn't sound like much. But across a 10-player session, that's 20 conversations. You start to know who these kids are — their home life, their friends, what motivates them, what's going on in their world. And when you know that, you coach them differently. Better.

Here's a small thing that makes a big difference: learn the parents' names. Ask the player. What's your mum's name? What's your dad's name? Got a brother or sister? Now instead of "hey, Mom" at pickup, you've got a name. That's a totally different interaction — and it goes a long way.

The performance environment

This one trips coaches up more than anything else. After years of running surveys at my club, the single most common complaint I read in family feedback is: "all they do is play games."

And I know, from watching these coaches, that they're doing really thoughtful work. They're coaching in the flow, they're connecting with players individually, they're running a games-based approach that we know develops soccer players. But the families haven't been told any of that — so they fill in the blanks themselves.

Here's the truth: parents care about their kids. Deeply. They want the best for them. And when they don't understand what's happening at training, they start comparing — to the other club on the next field where the kids are all dribbling around cones in a nice organized line. It looks structured. It looks like something. Even if it translates less to the game on the weekend.

Your job as a coach isn't just to run good sessions. It's to bring parents along with you.

On Monday, send a message. Not about the score. About the goals. Here's what we were working on this weekend, here's how we did, here's what we're building on this week. On Friday, send a preview. Here are the two goals for tomorrow's game — one attacking, one defensive. Here's what you should be watching for from the sideline.

When parents know what to look for, the whole sideline changes. Car rides home become conversations about what you were actually trying to do, not noise about who played where. You're not just coaching your players — you're quietly educating the people around them too.

Building an actual team

Players aren't a team just because they wear the same jersey. You've got to build it.

How many team events do you do? Pizza after a game, lunch on a Saturday, a trip to the beach when the field is closed, a 7-Eleven Slurpee run after a tournament game. These aren't extras. They're how players start to become something more than training partners.

I ask every family on my teams to coordinate one event for the year. One. Twelve players means twelve events, minimum. It can be as simple as bringing popsicles after practice. But now the families are part of the team — not spectators looking in.

Will everyone show up every time? No. But take a picture of the three families who do. Post it. "Sorry we missed you, hope to see you next time." Next time maybe four come. Then five. Build the momentum slowly and it compounds.

And when you understand what your players are actually there for — whether they're driven, competitive kids who want to go to college, or older players who just want to be around their friends and have a good time — you can coach to that. You stop trying to push the whole group in one direction when half of them are pointed somewhere else entirely.

The soft skills aren't a nice-to-have. They're what determines whether families re-enroll, whether players stay in the game, and whether your team actually becomes something worth being part of.

Get the relationships right, and the coaching gets easier. Every time.

Heads and Volleys Podcast, Episode 90

@LeeDunneSoccer

Knowledge AND Wisdom — You Actually Need Both

There's a quote from Einstein that does the rounds on social media every so often: knowledge is knowing the street is one way, but wisdom is looking both directions anyway.

It's a good one. And the more time I spend in this coaching world, the more I think it describes exactly where most coaches get stuck.

The knowledge trap

Knowledge, in our world, is the formal stuff. Licenses. Courses. Conventions. Symposiums. The pathway from Grassroots to D to C to B to A. And that pathway matters — if you want to coach at a certain level, you need certain credentials. That's not going anywhere and I'm not here to argue against it.

But here's what I've seen over and over. Coaches go through a license, perform to the standards of that course, and then drive away and go back to doing exactly what they were doing before. Just like passing your driving test and then immediately rolling the window down and doing 90. The course is done, the box is ticked, and the learning stops.

Collecting licenses without applying them is just paperwork.

The wisdom trap

On the other side, you've got the coach who says "I've been coaching for 20 years" like it's the answer to every question.

And honestly? There is real value there. Twenty years on the grass builds something you can't get in a classroom. You develop instincts. You read players. You know when to push and when to put an arm around someone. You recognize the moments in a session that need to change, and you feel it before you can even explain it. That's genuinely valuable wisdom.

But when that coach hasn't engaged with any new methodology, hasn't collaborated with other coaches, hasn't challenged their own thinking in years — that wisdom starts to calcify. You're not building, you're just repeating.

Neither one alone is enough. You need both.

What we're doing at the Vikings

At SF Vikings, we've set a standard that every coach is expected to move to the next license level every two years. But here's the piece that makes it actually work: our Director of Coaching doesn't coach any teams. His entire role is to support coach development — observing sessions, mentoring coaches, helping them connect what they learned in their last course to what they're doing on the field every week.

That second part is what most clubs skip. They get coaches through the license and then leave them to figure it out. Our DoC is there to bridge the gap between the knowledge from the course and the wisdom coaches are developing in real time.

We also built a common language across the club — five keywords that every coach uses, every player understands, and every family has been told about. Because you can ask families to stay quiet on the sideline and they won't. They want to support. So instead we give them the language. Here's how you support — use these five words. Now the whole environment is speaking the same language, from the training field to the car ride home.

The Internal A License

Here's the framing I use with my coaches: regardless of what your official license says, the goal is to become an internal A license coach. Not the official one — the internal one.

An internal A license coach speaks the same language as everyone else in the club. They uphold the communication standards we've set. They plan their sessions. They connect with families. They show up early, ready to coach. They are the best coach for their players, their team, and the culture we're building — and that's what actually matters.

We pay our coaches for 30 minutes before every session. That sounds small, but it changes everything. It means we can legitimately expect session plans, early arrivals, and weekly family communication. You can't ask for accountability without resourcing it.

And here's the perspective I always come back to: when you step on the field, you're delivering the final 25% of that session. The other 75% — the game analysis, the planning, the preparation, the thinking about your players — all happened before you got there. Pay coaches for that work and watch what happens to the quality of your sessions.

Knowledge tells you what to do. Wisdom tells you how and when. Build both, deliberately, and everything else gets better.

Heads and Volleys Podcast, Episode 89

@LeeDunneSoccer

Organization is Everything

Organization is everything in a training session. I genuinely believe that.

And I don't mean have your cones in a bag and show up on time. I mean the difference between a session that produces something real and one that's just an hour of activity — is almost always how organized it was.

Let me give you three levels. Because I think about organization in three stages, and I use them every time I'm coaching or teaching coaches.

But before I get into them, here's the number one mistake I see from coaches at every level: they set up the session, they get the players going, and then they start coaching.

That sounds right. It isn't.

The first thing you should do when a session starts is nothing. Step back. Observe. Watch what's actually happening before you say a word. Because what you think is happening and what's actually happening are often two very different things. And if you start coaching a problem that isn't the real problem, you're wasting everyone's time.

Observation is the skill most coaches skip. Don't skip it.

Level one is the basic stuff. Are the cones in a straight line? Does the field look like a game — or does it look like a geometry exercise? Do you have enough balls? Are the goals in the right place? Does every player know what team they're on? Does every player know what to do when they win the ball?

That last one kills more sessions than anything else. You set up the activity, you say "go," the red team wins the ball and just... stops. They look at you. Because you told the blue team what to do, and you forgot to tell the red team. That's a level one fail. And it happens to good coaches all the time.

If you are brand new to coaching, level one is a massive win. Get that right and you're already ahead.

Level two is about whether your players are playing in the right positions for what you're trying to achieve. Is your striker at the top of the formation? Are your wingers wide? Is your center back in the center? Because if you're doing a 4v4 and your striker is drifting central and your winger is chasing the ball in the middle of the park — what exactly are you preparing them for?

Level two is where the dots start connecting. The position in training should be the position in the game. The demand in training should reflect the demand in the game. A 1v1 drill is fine. But can you build it into a 4v4 where there are multiple game-realistic 1v1s happening simultaneously? Now you're getting somewhere.

The tempo matters here too. Do you want them to play fast? Make the field smaller. Do you want them to play slow and purposeful? Give them more space. You are manipulating the environment to get what you want — and that's coaching.

Level three is where it gets really interesting.

Level three is when you're recreating what happened last weekend — or what you expect to happen next weekend. The opponent presses high? Great. Red team, your job is to press like crazy, win the ball high, make the blue team uncomfortable. Blue team — how are you going to break it? That's level three. You're not doing a generic exercise anymore. You're doing your game, with your players, against a problem you actually need to solve.

And here's the thing about level three: most coaches never get there. Not because they don't have the knowledge — but because the organization isn't right. The teams aren't clear, the positions aren't set, the players don't know their roles — and by the time you sort all that out, the session is over.

This is why I always say: run the same session at least twice.

First night — get through level one and level two. Players learn the structure, they learn their positions, they figure out the rules. It might feel slow. That's fine.

Second night — you come back to the exact same session. Now everyone knows what they're doing. Now you can push into level three. Now you can say "red team, press from halfway" and they understand it because the foundation is there. Now you're actually coaching.

By the third session of the same structure? You might feel like a million dollars. Your players are breaking a high press that your real opponent runs. They're doing in training exactly what you need them to do on Saturday. And that connection — training to game, Tuesday to Saturday — that's what makes a coach good.

Organization gives you that. Not the flashy session plan. Not the newest drill. Just getting the basics right, observing what's actually happening, and building up through the levels.

That's it. That's everything.

Heads and Volleys Podcast, Episode 88

@LeeDunneSoccer

Your Players Aren't Lacking Intensity. Your Session Might Be.

I was running a coach education class recently and a question came in at the end: How do I add more intensity to my training sessions? How do I demand it from my players?

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It's one of the most common questions I get. And every time I hear it, I hear the same thing underneath it — a coach standing on the sideline saying "come on, guys, let's go, lift it up, work harder" while the players kind of shuffle around looking like they'd rather be somewhere else.

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That's a tough place to be. And every coach who's been there has good intentions. But I want to give you the honest answer, even if it's not the comfortable one.

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It's probably not the kids.

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Before you do anything else, ask yourself: are these same players intense in games? Are they competing, fighting for balls, desperate to win? If the answer is yes — and for most youth players it is — then the problem isn't your players. The problem is that your training session doesn't look like the game.

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That's where I want to start.

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Session Design: Does It Look Like the Game?

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When players step into a match, they're competing. There's direction, there's an opponent, there's something to win and lose. The environment creates the intensity naturally.

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Now look at your training session. If you're doing isolated skill work, if you're running drills that have no opponent and no real consequence, if the game doesn't come until the last fifteen minutes — you've removed every element that creates intensity in the first place. And then you're standing there wondering where it went.

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Play-Practice-Play fixes this. Players arrive and go straight into a small-sided game. Not a free-for-all — a structured, coached, managed game with direction and competition built in. Then you coach through the game. Then you go back to the game. Intensity is present from the first minute because the environment demands it. That's the model.

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Meeting the Needs of Your Players

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Here's something coaches don't think about enough: when is your training session?

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Is it right after school, when the kids have been sitting in class for six hours and they need to run around before they can think straight? Or is it right after PE, when half your team just ran three miles and their legs are already gone?

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Is it a hot Thursday in July? Is it raining? Did these kids eat dinner yet?

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I'm not saying lower your standards. I'm saying understand your context. A training session plan you found online was written with no knowledge of your players, your schedule, your weather, or what was happening in their lives that day. You have to adapt.

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If your players come to you twice a week and don't touch a ball otherwise, that's different from a group that plays on the street every afternoon. If you're coaching boys who need competition to come alive, that's different from an older girls' team where the social element matters and you need to warm them into it — maybe they get five minutes with the ball at their feet in pairs before you ramp it up. Try it. See what happens. Didn't work? Try something else. That's coaching.

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Timers: The Real Magic

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Here's the one thing I'd put in every training session tomorrow.

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Timers.

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Not vague time pressure. Actual, out-loud, countdown timers. "You've got two minutes — go." And when it hits two minutes, stop it. Count down the last ten seconds out loud. Let them hear the clock.

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Here's why this works: before you use timers, you let the game go until the quality drops. You've seen it — someone falls and laughs, the ball goes out and gets jogged after instead of sprinted, players start grabbing each other's shirts and giggling. The intensity is gone. You let it go too long.

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The timer stops that. You watch the game, you find the sweet spot — that moment just before the quality starts to fall — and you stop it there. Now they want more. Now the player on the ball is getting a shot off even as the whistle blows, because they're not done yet. That's the moment you're looking for.

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And here's the flip side: it keeps you accountable too. A two-minute phase of play means you don't stop to check your phone. You don't pull a player aside for a five-minute conversation while the others drift. The clock is running for everyone.

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Then when you reset, you can tweak the constraint. Winners keep the ball to start. That's one of my favourites — reward the team that scored, don't punish the one that didn't. Suddenly the incentive to win is baked into the game itself.

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Read the Room. Have a Pivot.

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Sometimes you do everything right and the session still feels flat. The kids are exhausted, something happened at school, three players are injured and the game doesn't flow. It happens.

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The best coaches I've worked with don't fight that. They read the room, they adjust, they have a pivot. Not every session is going to be your best one. But if you understand who you're coaching, what they need, and what the environment is asking of them — you're going to hit the mark far more often than you miss it.

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Intensity isn't something you demand. It's something you design.

Listen to the full episode: Ep. 87 — Training Lacking Intensity?

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@LeeDunneSoccer

The Most Underrated Coaching Skill Is Watching

I say it a lot: observe, watch, see what's going on. But I realized I'd never really broken down what that actually means. What exactly are you looking for? When are the key moments? That's what this one is about.

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Let me walk you through the five things I'm looking at every time my players are on the field.

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1. Is It Organized?

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This sounds basic, but you'd be surprised. Players shooting the wrong way. Three different colors of bibs and nobody knows who's on which team. Not enough balls. Players in positions that don't match how you play on the weekend. You don't know any of this is happening unless you take a step back and actually look.

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Organization first. Every time.

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2. Are They Figuring It Out?

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Once the setup is right, you let them play — and then you watch. When you're in a game-realistic environment, this is where it gets really interesting, because your players are not just trying to win. They're trying to do it the way you've asked them to.

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Does your build-out look like your build-out? Are your center backs in the right positions? Is the six doing what the six should be doing? When you've worked through patterns ahead of time — on a tactical board, in a walk-through, whatever it looks like — now's the time to see if they've absorbed it.

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And here's the key thing: you have to let them figure it out. Don't stop every 30 seconds to correct. Let it run. Watch. Are they getting it? If not, why not? Is the field too big? Too small? Did you ask for something they don't understand yet? You only know if you watch.

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3. Are They Succeeding and Failing at the Right Rate?

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For me, roughly 50/50 is the sweet spot. If your players are succeeding every single time, the activity is too easy. If they're failing constantly, it's too hard, or the setup doesn't match what you're asking for.

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And here's where it gets more layered. When your build-out players are finding it too easy, you can pull the pressing team aside and give them specific instructions — press high, press to one side, mirror what your upcoming opponent is going to do. Now you've made it harder. Now you observe again. Can your forwards press the way you want them to? The whole cycle resets.

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Adjust, observe, adjust, observe. That's the job.

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4. The Nuances — Behaviors and Relationships

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This is the stuff that's easy to miss if you're not paying close attention.

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Is your striker being too greedy? At some point selfishness tips over into disrupting the whole training environment. Is there a player getting picked on when they make mistakes? Is the star player pulling focus away from everything else happening on the field? Is your ten ending up in your nine's space because they haven't figured out their lines yet?

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You only notice these things if you're watching. And I can't tell you how many times a parent has flagged something to a coach — "have you noticed that Johnny's having a rough time with a player in the group?" — that the coach had completely missed, simply because they weren't observing.

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The game is the teacher. But only if you're watching the lesson.

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5. Reflect — On Paper, Not Just in Your Head

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Carry a notepad. I know, it sounds old-fashioned. But having a pen and paper in your pocket during training changes your whole approach to observation. You write things down. You circle names. You put an asterisk next to a player who did something that caught your eye. You note when something didn't work the way you planned.

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When you get back in the car after training, you've got an accurate record of what actually happened — not just what you remember. And memory is selective. We tend to remember the things that confirmed what we already believed. The notepad forces you to be objective.

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On my A license, I prepared five scenarios I thought would come up in my training plan. Scenario two came up. The other four didn't. And then something else emerged entirely — an unintended consequence of an instruction I'd given one of my players that I hadn't anticipated. That's coaching. It always has consequences, planned and unplanned. The ones who grow are the ones who notice.

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Get Out of Your Own Way

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The last thing I'll say is this: when the game is running, stop talking. Step back. Don't drift over to chat with another coach. Don't check your phone. Don't get pulled into a conversation with a parent.

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Give yourself time to watch. The session plan is set. The game is going. Now your job is to observe — so that when you do step in, what you say is actually connected to what's happening, not just to what you assumed would happen.

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You can't coach what you haven't seen.

‍Listen to the full episode: Ep. 86 — When and How to Observe

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@LeeDunneSoccer

"Quicker" Isn't a Coaching Point

Quick, quick, quick, quick. Go, go, go. We need to play faster.

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I hear it every weekend. At ODP sessions, at club games, at parks where parents are coaching from the sideline. Coaches and parents absolutely convinced that the answer is to play quicker. And they're not wrong — speed of play matters enormously in soccer. But the way it's being asked for, and the way players are interpreting it, is causing more problems than it's solving.

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Here's what happens when you yell quicker: your players get the ball and go. Head down, direct, get it forward as fast as possible. And then they lose it, or they misplace the pass, or they take the touch that puts them under pressure instead of out of it. And you yell quicker again.

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Because that's not speed of play. That's rushing. And rushing only makes it worse.

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Speed of Play Is a Decision, Not a Speed

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Here's the thing that reframes this for me: speed of play is a key quality. And if you look at what US Soccer actually says about key qualities, it comes back to reading the game and making decisions. Not just going faster.

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Watch a Pep Guardiola team. Watch what happens when his goalkeeper gets the ball and a center back steps on it and stops play completely. Every youth coach on the planet would lose their mind. But that pause — two, three seconds — allows every player ahead of the ball to reorganize. To dismark. To interchange. By the time the ball moves, the team has completely reset its shape, and they're now in a better position than if they'd just played it quickly off the back line and hoped for the best.

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Speed of play can mean slow it down.

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Now, I know U14 players probably can't do that. Yet. But the understanding underneath it — that quick doesn't always mean fast, and that sometimes controlling the tempo is the most intelligent thing you can do — that's what we're trying to develop.

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Quick vs. Rushed

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Let me separate those two things, because they get confused all the time.

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Quick is a good first touch and an immediate intention. I know what I'm going to do before the ball arrives. I've already read my options. When the ball comes, I play it — fast, clean, in the right direction.

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Rushed is panic. The ball comes and I haven't read anything yet. So I just kick it, or I spin without knowing where I'm going, or I force the long ball because it feels like something is happening.

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Rushing comes from uncertainty. Players who don't know where they're supposed to be, what the options are, or what the word "quicker" is actually asking them to do. We haven't taught them. We've just yelled faster.

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Teach It Through Set Pieces

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One of my favourite ways to introduce quick play — especially with younger or less experienced players — is through set pieces. Specifically, those cheeky moments where the opponent isn't ready.

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The referee has given us a free kick. Two or three of their players are still arguing about the call. The rest of their team is wandering. My player knows: tap and play. We go. Now the opponent has to scramble.

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I don't shout anything from the sideline. Not "they're not ready!" Not "go, go, go!" That just tells the other team to get set. My players have to read it themselves. They have to learn to see the moment and make the decision.

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One or two players pick this up naturally. Those are the ones who take the quick free kicks. Over time, more players start to develop that read. That's the goal — not players who go fast because I told them to, but players who know when it's time to go fast and when it isn't.

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The 4v4 Four-Goal Game

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For developing quick play in a training environment, I keep coming back to the four-goal game. Each team has two goals to attack — placed wide on each side of the playing area. The game forces players to shift the ball quickly, because if the whole defense crowds over to protect one goal, the other side is wide open.

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Your player wins the ball, sees three defenders shifted left, makes a quick decision, and plays it right. That's speed of play. That's reading the game and acting on what you see.

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To reinforce it: if you can score within a set time frame of winning the ball, it's worth two goals. Quick transition, well-executed, earns a bonus. Not the only way to score — just like in a real game — but a really nice incentive for your players to be looking for that moment.

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And here's the piece I love about this: when you connect it back to the game on the weekend, you can say to your players and their families — "we scored that from the other side of the field six times today. That would have been twelve bonus goals." The actual score of the game doesn't define whether you played well. Whether you applied what you worked on — that's the measure.

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My key word for this is break. "We're going to break from here." When our players hear that word, they know: space in front, opponent out of position, get forward now. We train it, they recognize it in the game. The coach doesn't need to shout it — they've already gone.

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That's what speed of play actually looks like.

Listen to the full episode: Ep. 85 — What is Speed of Play Anyway?

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@LeeDunneSoccer

Before You Book That Tournament, Ask Yourself Why

Tournaments are a big business. If you've ever run one, or even just walked around one on a busy Saturday in August, you don't have to squint too hard to see why they're given such a high priority in the youth soccer calendar.

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Here in Northern California, the second-to-last weekend of every month has no scheduled league games. That slot exists so teams can go to tournaments. And whether it's your club making the call, the families pushing for it, or just the culture of your program — you're probably going to some of them.

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I'm not here to argue whether you should or shouldn't. That's a different conversation. What I want to ask is: why are you going?

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Not sarcastically. Genuinely. Why are you going to this specific tournament, with this specific team, at this specific point in your season?

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Two Categories — And You Can Only Be In One

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The way I see it, there are two types of tournament experiences: fun and performance.

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Fun looks like a Halloween tournament with younger players — costumes, trick or treat, a hotel with a pool, siblings hanging out, parents relaxing together. It looks like a play date format where you run three games and treat it as an extended training opportunity. It's a team-building trip where the soccer is the vehicle and the togetherness is the destination.

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Performance looks like Surf Cup. Like an ECNL showcase where scouts might be watching. Like ODP Arizona in January, where everything around the games is built to put the players in the best position to compete and win.

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Here's the thing: you can't be in both categories at the same time. You can't go for fun, win your first two games, and suddenly decide you're going to win the whole thing. And you cannot go to win, lose your first two, and tell your families "well, we were here for fun anyway." One has to be the priority. Choose it. Own it. Build around it.

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The ODP Example: Setting It Up to Win

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When I take our ODP group to Arizona, we go to compete. And everything around the tournament reflects that.

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Players are only allowed to wear ODP gear when they're out of their rooms — not because of ego, but because it keeps them mentally connected to why they're there. They are ODP players on an ODP trip, and wearing the gear is a constant reminder of that.

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We send tactical information in advance — formations, set pieces, positional responsibilities — because we only see each other once a month. Players know their role before they land. They have something to read on the plane.

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The schedule is mapped out: activation time, arrival at the field an hour early, meals, bed by 10pm. We can't control the referees, the fields, the opposition, or whether a national team scout is watching during warmups. But we can control everything inside our environment. And we do.

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You can take elements of this for your club team even if you're not doing ODP. If you're going to win, tell your families what that means before you go. Tell them what the nutrition looks like between games. Tell them the pool is available after the last game on Sunday, not Saturday night. Set the standard early so no one is surprised by it later.

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Setting It Up for Fun

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If the purpose is fun, flip the approach entirely.

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Book the hotel with the pool. Plan the team dinner on Saturday night. Go to the movies after the last game. Make the breakfast on Sunday morning a group event that everyone contributes to.

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The kids will still look at the standings. The parents will still be doing the math on "if we win this and that team loses by two, we're in the final." That competitive energy doesn't disappear — it just isn't the thing you've organised everything around. The underlying commitment is that everyone goes home having had a good time, and next year when tournament sign-ups open, they want to go again.

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Fun still has structure. It doesn't mean stay up all night and eat junk between games. It means the structure is designed around the experience, not the result.

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Communicate Before You Go

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Here's the part that gets skipped most often: communicating the purpose to your families before you leave.

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Families will show up to a tournament with their own expectations. Some of them think it's a win-at-all-costs competition. Some think it's a low-key team trip. Some have no idea what to expect at all. If you haven't told them what it is, they'll fill in the gaps themselves — and everyone fills them in differently.

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The coach who doesn't set expectations ends up managing five different versions of the same trip simultaneously. Don't do that to yourself.

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Send a message, run a quick Zoom, or just pull everyone together before you head off: this is what this tournament is for us. This is what we're going to do, this is what we're going to avoid, and here's what success looks like. Families will trust you to tell them. Most of them are just waiting for someone to set the tone.

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One more thing worth asking — and I genuinely mean this — try explaining the tournament to a non-soccer friend. Someone who's not immersed in the culture of youth club soccer. Tell them where you're going, how much it costs, how many days, what the goal is. Then listen to your own answer. Do you like it?

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If you do, great. Go build around it. If you hesitate, that hesitation is worth paying attention to.

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Why are you going? Answer that first. Everything else follows.

Listen to the full episode: Ep. 83 — Tournaments

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@LeeDunneSoccer

Every Training Session You Find Online Is Out of Context

It's one of the most common questions I get when I'm running grassroots education: where do I find good training sessions? I need help, I don't know what to do, I Googled it and I got thousands of results and now I'm more confused than when I started.

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Here's the truth: every session plan you find online — including the ones on my own website — is completely out of context for your players.

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The Bayern Munich build-out session with Xabi Alonso? Your U9s can't do that. The Barcelona rondo with a pivot six? Your team might not even have a player who understands what a six does yet. The session that worked brilliantly for a coach in England who runs training twice a week with a group of highly competitive fourteen-year-olds? It might be entirely wrong for your group of ten-year-olds who show up once a week and just want to kick the ball with their friends.

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None of that makes any of those sessions bad. It just means context is everything. So here are the five steps I use — and the five I'd recommend for you — to take any session and make it actually work for your team.

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Step 1: What Are Your Goals?

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Not the session's goals. The team's goals. For the year, for the season, for the current cycle.

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Are you trying to peak at State Cup? Are you working with young players whose number one goal is to come back next year? Are you in an academy environment where players are being prepared for something beyond just youth soccer? Or are you running a recreational team where the definition of success is that everyone had fun?

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These are not trick questions. They just need answers before you pick up a session plan. If your goal is that seven-year-olds come back wanting to play again — which is a completely valid and important goal — then your training sessions need to feel fun, competitive in an age-appropriate way, and achievable. A session that makes them feel confused or unsuccessful every week is going to cost you players.

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If you run a spring season and a fall season, set goals for each. Work backwards into your training cycles. It doesn't have to be complicated. But when you know where you're going, choosing a training session gets a whole lot easier.

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Step 2: Check the Roadmaps or your Game Model

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US Soccer publishes player development roadmaps. They outline what players should realistically be able to do at each age and format — 7v7, 9v9, 11v11. It's worth looking at them, and your club may have their own version.

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The reason this matters: the roadmap keeps you honest about what's actually appropriate. Shooting is on every roadmap, at every age. But a shot at 7v7 looks completely different to a shot at 11v11. A seven-year-old driving the ball with their laces and hoping it goes in the general direction of the goal — that's a shot. A sixteen-year-old cutting across a defender and finishing with the outside of the foot — that's also a shot. (I scored one of those last week. Not to toot my own horn, but it happened.)

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The point is: match your session to where your players actually are, not where you wish they were, and not where the session you found online assumes they'll be.

The same reference to a game model - it gives you your plan up front because you have already defined how you want to play. The sessions begin to write themselves. Especially when you repeat quality sessions!

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Step 3: What Makes Your Players Tick?

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I was recently asked by a coach — who had played Division One college soccer — how to light a fire under her players. She couldn't understand why they weren't competing the way she expected them to.

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Her players were seven years old.

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Her last experience of playing was ultra-competitive collegiate soccer where scholarships were on the line. That's the frame she brought to the field with her daughter's team. And those little girls just wanted to play and have fun with their friends.

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My question back to her: what was your fire when you were seven? Probably fun. Probably friends. Probably the fact that someone gave you a ball and said go.

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So does your session reflect what your players actually need? If you have older girls who need a few minutes of social time before they're ready to compete, build that in. Ten minutes of chatting with a ball at their feet isn't wasted time — for a fifteen-year-old girl, that connection might be what keeps her coming back. If you've got boys who need competition to wake up, give them winners. Reward the team that scores by letting them restart with the ball. Don't punish the losing team — just make winning feel worthwhile.

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Observe your players. Find the thing that makes them push, and build your session around it.

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Step 4: Combine — Make It Yours

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Now you take the session you found and you adapt it. Remove a player if the numbers don't work. Change the goals to change the behavior. Add a timer if you need competition. Add a monster — a coach or assistant running around in a bib — if you're working with young ones who need a villain to chase.

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What you see online will never look exactly the same on your field. Prepare for that. Your space is different. Your players are different. Your numbers might be off by two. That's fine. Tweak it. Make it fit.

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And if your players aren't ready for what the session is asking — if the Barcelona pivot six is a concept they've never heard of — that's okay too. Slow it down. Introduce the idea first. Add it in over time. You're not running a first-team training session. You're building a foundation.

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Step 5: Do It Twice

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This is the one people skip. They plan a new session every single night, and then they wonder why they never have time to observe, or why they're always spending the first fifteen minutes explaining rules.

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Run the same session again.

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The first time, your players are learning the activity. They're figuring out the rules, the shape, the purpose. By the end they're just starting to play well. Then you go home, reflect on it, maybe share it with parents so they know what to expect. The next session, your players already know the game. They arrive, they go, and now you get to actually coach — because you're not managing confusion, you're managing the game.

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Three or four times in a row might be too much. But twice? Almost always the right call. Change a constraint or two if you need to keep it fresh. Same environment, slightly different rules. They stay in the game, you stay in the coaching.

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Five steps. Goals, roadmaps, observation, combine, do it twice. Any session you find — online, in a coaching course, on my website — run it through those five. When it fits your players, it'll work. When it doesn't fit, you'll know exactly why, and you'll know exactly what to change.

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Context is everything.

Listen to the full episode: Ep. 84 — Context for Training Sessions

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@LeeDunneSoccer

If You Yell at Referees, You're Making It Worse for the Rest of Us

I want to talk about referees.

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Not in the way you're probably thinking. I'm not here to list every bad call I've ever seen or build a case against referees in general. My starting position is actually this: I don't care about the referee. And I mean that in the most respectful way possible.

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What I mean is — I know the referee is not there to spite my team. They're not trying to make us lose, they're not trying to endanger my players. They showed up on a Sunday, probably for the fifth or sixth game of the day, to do a job. That's it. So I go into every game with a certain peace about the referee, because I've already accepted that whatever happens, they're doing their best and I'm not going to change the decision.

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That said. Last weekend, two things happened.

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Incident One: The Finger

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I had a player arriving late. Before kickoff, I'd already told the referee — hey, I've got a player coming, he'll be here. No problem.

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The player arrived. He warmed up on the side. The ball went out of play. I called over — "Hey, ref!" — and he turned around, pointed a finger at me, said "Not now, coach," and turned away.

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That was it. That was the whole exchange. I wanted to sub a player in who I'd already flagged before the game started. And I got a finger.

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Could I have timed it better? Maybe. It was a throw-in and he wasn't sure which way it was going. Maybe my "Hey, ref!" landed at the exact wrong moment. I can own that. But the defensiveness was immediate. There was no curiosity about what I needed — just a wall.

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To be clear: it worked itself out. Next stoppage, I flagged it again, he let the player on, no problem. But the instinct — that instant, pre-emptive defensive posture — that's what I want to talk about.

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Incident Two: The Goal

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This one is the story.

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One of my U7 boys — I call them the babies, they're playing up in a U8/U9 division — kicked the ball back to the goalkeeper. Goalkeeper picked it up. Standing on the goal line. Referee blew the whistle.

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Fair call. That's a back-pass. Indirect free kick. I knew it, I accepted it. I started organizing my players around the goalkeeper to block the kick — just to teach them what to do in that moment, because they're seven, they've never been in this situation before.

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The referee said: "Coach, you can't do that. It's handball. It's a direct kick."

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He then made the goalkeeper stand to the side — not allowed to block a direct kick, apparently — and let a player stand one yard from an unguarded goal and kick the ball in.

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And I just stood there thinking — have you ever seen that happen before? In any game, at any level?

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I waited until half-time, walked calmly onto the field to bring my players off, and as we were walking, I turned to the referee and said: can you explain that to me? I think it's an indirect free kick. Am I wrong?

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That was the question. Not an argument. Am I wrong?

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He said "those are the rules, coach, don't talk to me" — and stormed off.

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What Happened at Half-Time

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He went and checked his phone. I talked to my players. We moved on — because at U7, none of this matters. The other coach was laughing, by the way. His team had just been gifted a goal from one yard out. Fair play to him.

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When my players went back onto the field, the referee came up to me.

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"Hey coach. I want to apologize. I was wrong."

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He shook my hand.

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And here's what I said — and I mean this: it's not about right or wrong. I didn't want an apology. I just wanted to have the conversation. Because next weekend he's going to referee another game. And if that situation comes up again and he still believes it's a direct kick, the next coach is going to absolutely lose their mind at him — and that coach might not be as calm as I was trying to be.

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I told him: I'm not here to fight you. I'm not here to change your decision in that moment. That's already done. I just want to make sure we've got it right going forward.

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The Real Point

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That referee had been beaten up by coaches. I don't know how many times, I don't know when, but it was obvious. He couldn't receive a question without bracing for an attack. He couldn't hear "hey, can you explain that?" without it feeling like a confrontation.

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And that's not his fault. That's ours.

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If you are a coach who yells at referees — who argues calls, who gets in their face, who makes the touchline hostile — you are making it harder for every other coach who just wants to have a calm, honest conversation. You are the reason a referee put his finger up at me when I was trying to sub a player in. You are the reason a referee told me "don't talk to me" when I asked a genuine question.

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We talk a lot about the environment we create for our players. The environment we create for referees matters too.

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After the game I pulled my boys together and asked if they'd had fun. They said yes. Then one of them asked: "Did we win, coach?"

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"That's all we need to worry about, boys."

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And off we went.

Listen to the full episode: Ep. 82 — Ref!!!

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@LeeDunneSoccer

Are You Getting 20 Years of Experience, or One Year Repeated 20 Times?

Quick question: how many hours did you coach last week?

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Count it up. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Practice sessions, games, small groups, one-on-ones — all of it.

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This week I'm pushing eleven hours of practice across small group and team environments. Add two games on Friday, two more on Saturday, and potentially more on Sunday depending on how the tournament goes — I'm looking at close to twenty hours of coaching. And this is on top of everything else going on.

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Now. Of those twenty hours — how many would you say are actually quality?

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"I'm Showing Up. Isn't That Enough?"

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Honestly? Sometimes it has to be. I'm grateful I have a wife who accommodates an evening-and-weekend coaching schedule. I don't know if my kids have opinions about it. I haven't asked. That's probably a sidebar for another day.

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But "I'm showing up" is the floor, not the ceiling. It's the bare minimum we can offer the players we coach. The question is what we bring with us when we show up.

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Are your hours planned? Are they a continuation of a cycle, building on what you worked on last week? Or are you turning up with a vague idea and figuring it out when you get there? Both happen. But only one of them compounds.

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20 Years of Experience — or One Year, Repeated?

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Here's the thing that bothers me. A coach with twenty years of experience doesn't automatically make a great coach. Not if those twenty years are the same year, repeated twenty times.

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Same session structures. Same approach. Same response to the same problems. No new education, no curiosity about what other methodologies might offer, no honest reflection on whether what you're doing is actually working.

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Compare that to a coach who takes each year seriously — who tries something different, who asks questions of other coaches, who reads, who watches, who is genuinely in a different place at the end of the year than they were at the start.

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When I finished my A license, I had this feeling of — right, done, checklist complete. I'd been working through the US Soccer license pathway and when I got to the end of it, I felt like I'd ticked the last box. And then something shifted. I realised that finishing the checklist was the beginning, not the end.

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Since then: an MBA. The Tovo coaching course. Looking into Raymond Verheijen's work. Planning to shadow a friend who runs an academy in Europe, just to see how they do things differently. Todd Beane — controversial for some, but I'm interested in both him and Verheijen.

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These aren't things I was supposed to do. They're things I wanted to do, once I stopped waiting for the next formal step to tell me what to learn. Where is your education coming from right now? When did you last try something genuinely new?

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The Wagon Coach

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I want to paint you a picture.

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A coach walks across the field pulling one of those big Jeep wagons. Poles hanging out the side. A mannequin in there. Different sizes of soccer balls. A rebounder wall. Tennis balls, cones in three different sizes, a speed ladder, a couple of flags. Looks incredible. They spend thirty minutes setting it all up and it looks like a proper professional training environment.

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And here's my question: can your players go home and do any of that?

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I'm not saying the wagon is wrong. I'm saying — what's the point of a training session if it only exists inside that thirty-minute setup? If the learning can only happen with those specific pieces of equipment, in that specific arrangement, with you managing every part of it — then the moment the session ends, the learning stops.

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I want my players to be able to take something home. That's always the goal. In small group training, I'll ask a player: what do you do when you train on your own? What does it look like at home? Then I try to build something into the session that connects to that — a turn, a way of breaking pressure, something they can practice off the wall in their room with a tennis ball. Parents might not love it. But they'll be working on soccer.

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What Did You Learn?

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At the end of every session, before you drive home, ask yourself: what did I learn today? What am I going to adapt, tweak, or do differently next time?

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Not what the players learned. What you learned.

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That question is what separates coaches who are accumulating experience from coaches who are just accumulating time. You are always the student too. The moment you stop believing that, your hours start becoming repetition rather than growth.

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I've coached in 105-degree heat in Northern California with forty kids at lunchtime. I've done six-hour days, five days a week, through entire summers. Those hours taught me a lot — about managing energy, about reading groups, about handling the chaos that comes with all sorts of ages and abilities in the same space. But I was also learning something every single time, or trying to.

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That's the standard worth holding yourself to. Not just how many hours, but what you're bringing to them — and what you're taking away.

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How did you maximize yours?

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Listen to the full episode: Ep. 81 — Maximizing Hours

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@LeeDunneSoccer

The Minibus That Won Us a Game

Let me ask you a question before we get into anything else.

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The training session you're running tonight — would you want to play in it?

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Not "is it organised?" Not "does it have a clear objective?" Those things matter. But I'm asking something different. Would you actually want to be a player in that session? Would it be fun?

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Because here's what I keep coming back to: fun is not the opposite of learning. It might be the environment where the best learning happens.

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The ODP Arizona Story

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I just got back from the Far West Regional Championships with our ODP 2011 boys. Best players we have at that age group. Committed, driven, watching the game, understanding the bigger picture — the kind of group you'd pick from the entire Northern California pool if you could have anyone.

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We treated it as a performance environment. Everything was structured. Phones were handed in before bedtime, which I loved — one of my players averages nine hours of screen time a day, nine hours, and watching him actually engage with his teammates without a device in his face was remarkable. We had schedules, meal plans, activation sessions, set piece materials sent in advance. Everything controlled.

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We lost our first two games. Flat. Rigid. The soccer we'd seen these players produce in scrimmages — the reason we'd picked them — just wasn't there. Stage fright was part of it, sure. MLS scouts watching, regional and national team staff in the stands. But something else was off. We'd over-cooked the environment. We'd made it so performance-focused that the players couldn't relax enough to actually perform.

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Then came the lightning delay.

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Eighteen Players, One Minibus

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The field was cleared immediately. We had two minivans for eighteen players and three staff — one was parked on the other side of the complex. So all eighteen piled into one.

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We didn't plan anything. We weren't running icebreakers or reviewing footage. The coaches got out because, frankly, the smell inside was extraordinary. Twelve and thirteen-year-old boys, closely packed. One player had the misfortune of getting on first and spent fifteen minutes pressed against the window deeply regretting that decision.

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They were laughing. Telling jokes. Yelling at each other. Just being kids.

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Fifteen minutes of complete chaos. Not one coaching point delivered.

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When the lightning cleared and we went back on the field, something had shifted. It was hailing sideways, forty degrees in the Arizona desert, genuinely miserable conditions. Seven substitutes had every right to refuse to come on. But they played. The best they'd played all tournament. Scored late from a free kick to draw 1-1 against a team that expected to beat us.

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I can't prove the minibus did it. Maybe everything we'd worked on in the individual performance reviews clicked all at once. Maybe after two losses there was nothing left to lose. But I couldn't shake the feeling that those fifteen unplanned, uncoached, unstructured minutes were the catalyst. They got loose. And loose is how these players actually play.

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The Danger of Over-Structuring Fun

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Here's what I see in training sessions — and I've been guilty of it too. Coaches build in something they call a "fun game" that isn't actually fun. The ball keeps going out of play. There are five players in a line waiting for a turn. The rules are so complicated that when a defender wins the ball, they immediately look up and ask "what do I do now, coach?" The game-realistic feel is gone.

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Or the other version: players arrive, have a bit of unstructured time that's genuinely fun, and then the coach steps in and says right, that's enough, now we work. The fun gets turned off like a tap. And what you're actually saying to your players is that coaching is the serious part, and fun is the reward you get before and after.

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A quote I heard at a convention recently has stayed with me: be demanding without being demeaning. That switch from fun to serious is where coaches can accidentally cross that line — where demanding starts to feel like a punishment for the enjoyment they were just having.

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The U8 Warm-Up Experiment

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My U8 boys — they show up to games, they check their kit because we always have someone in the wrong socks, they get the balls out, and they play. That's the warm-up. That's it.

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Other coaches look at me like I've lost my mind. They've got structured rondos going on ten minutes before kickoff. Mine are just running around kicking balls and having a laugh.

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But here's what I know: when they cross the line, their minds are on, their bodies are warm, and they know what we're working on that cycle. Nothing changes once the whistle goes. They're already there.

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And yet — we've lost every significant game we've played. Finals, cup games, tournaments. Four of them. And I keep coming back to whether we change something for those games, whether the pressure of the occasion causes me to add structure to a warm-up that doesn't need it, whether they feel the tension from the coaching staff or the parents and it tightens them up.

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My plan: next big game, I'm doing the same thing. Nothing. Let them play. See if the results are different.

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Because the question I started with is the one I keep coming back to.

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Is it fun? Is it fun for your players right now, in this session, in this moment? Would you want to be out there?

If the answer is yes — you're probably doing it right. If the answer is no, that's worth sitting with for a minute. Not because learning doesn't matter. But because for the players you're coaching, fun and learning might not be as separate as you think.

Listen to the full episode: Ep. 80 — Is It Fun?

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@LeeDunneSoccer

Do You Know Why Your Players Are Playing?

When I was growing up, motivation was simple. How hard do you run? How much do you put in on the fifty-fifty? Nobody asked why you were playing. Everyone was swept up in it. Everyone wanted to be a pro. That was the answer.

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But when I look at the players I coach now — and think about my own kids starting to find their sports — I realise we don't ask the question nearly enough. Why are you playing? What's the motivation?

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Because the answer is different for every single player on your roster. And if you don't know what it is, you're coaching a group of kids you only half understand.

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The Mismatch Nobody Talks About

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Here's something that kills me when I'm consulting and directing: coaches whose motivation doesn't match the players they're working with.

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A new coach comes into a club. They're given a second team, third team, development group — players who are there because they love the game and want to have fun. But the coach is ambitious. They want to prove themselves. They want to win every game so they can move up and work with the top teams. Their motivation is to win. Their players' motivation is to play.

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Those two things can coexist. But only if you know the gap is there. If you don't, you end up demanding things from players that they were never really signed up for.

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I also have a set of twins in one of my groups this season. One plays soccer. The other plays football. They argue constantly about whose sport is better — genuinely, as siblings do, putting each other's preferences up against each other. And honestly? They might both continue playing their sports out of spite. Just to prove the point. That's motivation. Not conventional, but real. And if I know that, I can work with it.

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The Baseball Player

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I have a player who is a very serious baseball player. Plays shortstop. Smart kid, great at reading where the ball is going before it gets there — that anticipation is trained into him through hundreds of hours of watching hitters and fielding in competition.

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I caught him swinging an imaginary baseball bat in the middle of a rondo. Standing on the outside of the activity, completely in his own world, doing his swing.

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My first instinct was: don't disrespect my soccer like that. But I stopped myself. I had a conversation with him instead. Found out how serious the baseball was, what the skills involved are, what he loves about it.

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And then something clicked. The way he reads a mid-to-low press — hanging around the center circle, watching where the ball is going to come out, and then jumping on it — that's a shortstop reading the play. Same skill, different sport. I told him that. I said: you're not playing soccer and baseball. You're playing the same game in two different environments. The observation, the anticipation, the reaction — that's you.

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Something shifted for him. Because now his baseball wasn't a separate thing that had nothing to do with soccer. It was the reason he's good at soccer.

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I would never have known any of that if I hadn't asked.

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What I Do With Younger Players

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With my younger groups, I send a monthly email to families. It has a few things in it, and together they help me track motivation at both the player and parent level.

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The first is a juggling record. Just their name and their current score. That's it. Simple submission form. But what it tells me is: are they touching a ball at home? Is the score going up? And the parent response rate — how many families actually fill it in — tells me something about engagement at the family level too. If I've sent three emails and had no response, that's information.

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The second is family homework. This month I asked parents to share with their son what their own experience of youth sports was like — what it felt like, what their parents were like on the sideline. Then have the conversation about what the player wants from his parents at games.

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For me, growing up: my dad stood on the sideline and gave me a thumbs up. That was it. Never shouted. Just the thumbs up when I looked over. That meant everything. I shared that with my families and said — what does your son want from you? Because if he doesn't want you yelling, and you're yelling every weekend, that's a motivation killer right there. Some kids drop out of soccer not because they don't like soccer, but because they can't separate the game from the way it feels when their parents are on the sideline.

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Giving players permission to say what they actually want from the adults around them — that's powerful.

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Building the Profile

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What I'm doing across all of this is building a picture of each player. Who are their friends in the group? I know two of my players are close — so when I say "get into pairs," I'm not always separating them. Sometimes pairing them together is the coaching choice, because they'll push each other harder and support each other better than they would with a stranger.

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I have two Russian-speaking players. I put them together as much as I can. Not to isolate them — to build a green line. Connection is a motivator.

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When a player moves on — even if they leave the club — I write up a profile and pass it to parents to share with the next coach. Because that baseball shortstop kid's ability to read and anticipate a game is a gift. It deserves to be passed on, not lost in the transition.

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What This Is All For

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The desired behaviour — players who fight, don't give up, go home and practice, come back better — that's not something you demand. It's a byproduct of understanding what's actually driving each person in your group.

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You don't get there by running the same session for everyone. You get there by asking why they're here. And then actually listening to the answer.

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Do you know what motivates each of your players?

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Listen to the full episode: Ep. 78 — Motivation

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@LeeDunneSoccer

The First Ten Minutes Might Be Your Most Important Coaching

Quick question: how do you start your training sessions?

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Not the first drill. The first five minutes. When players are arriving, bags going down, someone's in the wrong socks again, another one hasn't got their shin guards — what does that look like, and what are you doing while it's happening?

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This is something I've evolved a lot over time, and it's become one of the things I think about most carefully. Because I believe the first ten minutes of training might be the most important coaching you do all session.

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Multiple Points of Contact

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My goal with every player, every training session, is at least two points of contact. One is a coaching moment — a position, a touch, a scan, something connected to what we're working on. But the other one is personal.

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How's your dog? How did the move go? You mentioned you were going to see your grandma — how was that?

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I know it sounds small. But I had a player once who was a chess champion. I had no idea until I actually talked to him. And once I knew, so much about how he played made sense — how he processed space, how he anticipated moves ahead of time, the way he understood cause and effect in the game before it happened. That conversation unlocked something for me as his coach. I couldn't have had it if I was setting up cones the whole time they were arriving.

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Let Them Play First

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My first group now turns up fifteen minutes early. Not because I told them to — they started doing it themselves. They're bugging their parents on the drive over. They're sprinting through the building to get on the field. They make their own teams and away they go before I've even finished setting up.

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I love that. That is the dream. When players are fighting to get more time with the ball before practice even starts, you've created something.

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I'm not always there fifteen minutes early — sometimes I hit traffic, sometimes I'm there right on the hour. And I've made a rule for myself: if players arrived early and started playing, we go for an extra five minutes. It's not their fault they weren't early if the other kids weren't. I'm not cutting their game short because someone else just got there.

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When I was a kid I used to get to school at 8am. School didn't start until 9:05. Every morning we played football on the blacktop. And we started getting there earlier and earlier because the games were good. That's what I want to create.

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The Huddle

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After the arrival game, I pull them together. Arms around each other. And here's the sequence.

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First, I ask for a reflection. It might be on the last game, or the last training session — thumbs up, thumbs down, or hands in: two hands in if you loved it, one hand if it was okay, no hands if it wasn't for you. And it's a safe space. No hand is the wrong answer. If you put no hands in, I want to know why — not to challenge it, but because that's useful. That tells me something I need to know.

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Then: chins on chest, eyes closed, three deep breaths.

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I'll be honest — when I first saw another coach do this, I smirked. I thought it was a bit much. But I started using it, and I kept using it, and now I won't run a session without it. What it does in those thirty seconds is settle things. These kids have come from school, from arguments, from traffic, from whatever their day was — and the three breaths are a signal. We're here now. This is what we're doing.

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Then I tell them what we're focused on today. Not a long speech. Just: this is the theme, this is what you can expect, here's what we're after. Then water break, get the balls, go.

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That whole sequence takes about ten minutes. And from there, everything else flows more cleanly.

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Not Laps

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When I run coaching education, I hear it all the time: "I send them on two laps to burn some energy off, to calm them down."

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It doesn't work. Running laps doesn't create focus. It just delays the problem. A purposeful huddle — where players feel seen, where the session has a clear intention, where they've had a minute to breathe and land — is a thousand times more effective than any lap of the field.

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Reading the Room

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The other thing the huddle gives you is the read. The player who's grumpy, who's whining, who's a bit off — you notice it in those first few minutes. And your response to that matters.

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I had a player just recently who was in a terrible mood. Complaining about everything, snapping at teammates. The old coaching instinct says get it together, stop whining, focus up. But I know this kid. Something was going on.

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Instead: "Hey — it's okay to have a bad day. What do you need right now? Do you want to play a bit more free? Be a plus one? Go in goal for a bit?"

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That's it. Acknowledge it. Meet him where he is. And nine times out of ten, that's all it takes. Because what he needed was just to feel like someone saw him.

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Think about it from his side. He's had adults telling him what to do and what he's doing wrong all day at school. His parents might have been stressed in the car. He shows up to practice carrying all of that, and the last thing he needs is one more adult demanding he perform on command.

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Your first ten minutes can change all of that. Or it can make it worse.

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So: how do you start? What does the first ten minutes look like for your players? And — honest question — are you actually using that time, or are you just getting through it to get to the session?

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I'm always stealing good ideas. Let me know what you do.

Listen to the full episode: Ep. 79 — Team Huddle

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@LeeDunneSoccer

Do You Know Why Your Players Are Playing?

When I was growing up, motivation was simple. How hard do you run? How much do you put in on the fifty-fifty? Nobody asked why you were playing. Everyone was swept up in it. Everyone wanted to be a pro. That was the answer.

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But when I look at the players I coach now — and think about my own kids starting to find their sports — I realise we don't ask the question nearly enough. Why are you playing? What's the motivation?

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Because the answer is different for every single player on your roster. And if you don't know what it is, you're coaching a group of kids you only half understand.

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The Mismatch Nobody Talks About

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Here's something that kills me when I'm consulting and directing: coaches whose motivation doesn't match the players they're working with.

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A new coach comes into a club. They're given a second team, third team, development group — players who are there because they love the game and want to have fun. But the coach is ambitious. They want to prove themselves. They want to win every game so they can move up and work with the top teams. Their motivation is to win. Their players' motivation is to play.

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Those two things can coexist. But only if you know the gap is there. If you don't, you end up demanding things from players that they were never really signed up for.

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I also have a set of twins in one of my groups this season. One plays soccer. The other plays football. They argue constantly about whose sport is better — genuinely, as siblings do, putting each other's preferences up against each other. And honestly? They might both continue playing their sports out of spite. Just to prove the point. That's motivation. Not conventional, but real. And if I know that, I can work with it.

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The Baseball Player

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I have a player who is a very serious baseball player. Plays shortstop. Smart kid, great at reading where the ball is going before it gets there — that anticipation is trained into him through hundreds of hours of watching hitters and fielding in competition.

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I caught him swinging an imaginary baseball bat in the middle of a rondo. Standing on the outside of the activity, completely in his own world, doing his swing.

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My first instinct was: don't disrespect my soccer like that. But I stopped myself. I had a conversation with him instead. Found out how serious the baseball was, what the skills involved are, what he loves about it.

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And then something clicked. The way he reads a mid-to-low press — hanging around the center circle, watching where the ball is going to come out, and then jumping on it — that's a shortstop reading the play. Same skill, different sport. I told him that. I said: you're not playing soccer and baseball. You're playing the same game in two different environments. The observation, the anticipation, the reaction — that's you.

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Something shifted for him. Because now his baseball wasn't a separate thing that had nothing to do with soccer. It was the reason he's good at soccer.

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I would never have known any of that if I hadn't asked.

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What I Do With Younger Players

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With my younger groups, I send a monthly email to families. It has a few things in it, and together they help me track motivation at both the player and parent level.

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The first is a juggling record. Just their name and their current score. That's it. Simple submission form. But what it tells me is: are they touching a ball at home? Is the score going up? And the parent response rate — how many families actually fill it in — tells me something about engagement at the family level too. If I've sent three emails and had no response, that's information.

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The second is family homework. This month I asked parents to share with their son what their own experience of youth sports was like — what it felt like, what their parents were like on the sideline. Then have the conversation about what the player wants from his parents at games.

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For me, growing up: my dad stood on the sideline and gave me a thumbs up. That was it. Never shouted. Just the thumbs up when I looked over. That meant everything. I shared that with my families and said — what does your son want from you? Because if he doesn't want you yelling, and you're yelling every weekend, that's a motivation killer right there. Some kids drop out of soccer not because they don't like soccer, but because they can't separate the game from the way it feels when their parents are on the sideline.

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Giving players permission to say what they actually want from the adults around them — that's powerful.

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Building the Profile

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What I'm doing across all of this is building a picture of each player. Who are their friends in the group? I know two of my players are close — so when I say "get into pairs," I'm not always separating them. Sometimes pairing them together is the coaching choice, because they'll push each other harder and support each other better than they would with a stranger.

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I have two Russian-speaking players. I put them together as much as I can. Not to isolate them — to build a green line. Connection is a motivator.

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When a player moves on — even if they leave the club — I write up a profile and pass it to parents to share with the next coach. Because that baseball shortstop kid's ability to read and anticipate a game is a gift. It deserves to be passed on, not lost in the transition.

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What This Is All For

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The desired behaviour — players who fight, don't give up, go home and practice, come back better — that's not something you demand. It's a byproduct of understanding what's actually driving each person in your group.

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You don't get there by running the same session for everyone. You get there by asking why they're here. And then actually listening to the answer.

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Do you know what motivates each of your players?

Listen to the full episode: Ep. 78 — Motivation

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@LeeDunneSoccer