After defeat: Lessons learned coaching high school football

The sun came up this morning. The dog needed walking, as he does every morning. And the usual Saturday routine – grocery shopping, lunch with my wife, strolling through knickknack shops in our beloved downtown Fredericksburg – was still in place.

These are the little joys that I embrace every Saturday.

Opening my email, however, I was quickly reminded that this was no ordinary Saturday.

It was the first Saturday after our loss in the Virginia high school football playoffs the night before, which ended our season. Losing in the playoffs is never enjoyable, but when you fall 58-3, well, it hurts.

A friend who had attended the game had written to extend his regrets on the loss, and to ask a question. “We walked in about 3 minutes before halftime,” he wrote, “and as soon as I saw the score board I knew it was [going to] be a lopsided loss. … I’m curious how you coach in those situations.”  

I tripped over his words. There are certainly moments when, as a coach, you realize that coming back and winning isn’t going to happen. And there are moments where you feel utterly helpless, as whatever you call fails to achieve the desired results.

The only option is to keep coaching. 

You coach for those who still have to take the field and play the game. When we were down by 41 in the fourth quarter, I was on the sideline teaching a young man to play a position he didn’t normally play because our starter was injured. There was no other backup; I had to prepare my players for the possibilities.

You coach for the younger players who are coming back. When we were down by 48, I was talking with my punter about how to get his kicks away quicker. It would make no difference tonight. But for the Friday nights that lay before him, it will.

And you coach for the players for whom this was the last time that they would put on a high school football uniform. With every snap, they were still playing the game they loved. Still making memories. Still enjoying the moment.

Coaching to the very end is the best way I know to thank them for all they gave their team.

A photo of one of our seniors taken right after the game reminded me how much we owe these players.

When the shutter snapped, the stadium lights still illuminated the dark skies. The young man was down on one knee, helmet in his right hand resting on the turf, his head hung.

Most people still at the stadium, no doubt, saw this and felt sadness. They saw pain and they saw loss. But they only saw this singular moment in time.

I spoke with that player Saturday morning about what he was thinking when the shot was taken. The hurt and the sting of loss were there, to be sure, but what he was focused on was the past four years. The ups and downs. The friendships. The tribulations. The relationships he’d formed with his teammates and his coaches. And he was thinking about the final moments of his playing career. His final block. His last tackle. His last time breaking the huddle.

It was a moment of thankfulness for every snap he’d played. Every practice he’d endured. Every injury he’d fought through.

And when the stadium lights finally fell, it would not be the darkness he dwelled on. His eyes were on his life ahead.

What football has taught him, and what it is still teaching me, is that every day, every collective experience, ends the same, with a sunset. And in that moment, it is good to reflect on all that has gone before.

But, the sun always comes up in the morning. And rising to face it is its own reward.