The Silent Side of the Whistle - A coach’s inner thoughts
“Did I wash the girls’ uniforms?”
That’s the thought that crept in before I’d even had my morning coffee. Not strategy. Not stats. Just wondering if I remembered the simple act of making sure they had clean uniforms waiting in their lockers. Because before the first whistle, before the lights, before the game... we’re caretakers too. Coaches wear a lot of hats. Some days I feel like I’m wearing them all at once.
Are they in the locker room ready to play?
Did I schedule the officials?
Why did I do that?
I still don’t know why I took on so much. Passion, probably. A love for the game, sure. But mostly—it’s for them. The kids who show up every day and trust me to lead them, even when I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of to-dos and second-guesses.
“I’ll be home late. Just finishing up some practice plans.”
12:01 a.m.
My family knows the drill by now. Practice ends, and the real work begins. Breaking down film. Planning drills. Analyzing matchups. Replaying conversations in my head—did I lift her up enough? Was I too sharp when I gave that feedback? Will she give up on herself because I pushed her too hard? Or worse… not hard enough?
Am I the right fit for this job?
These aren’t dramatic, fleeting worries—they’re daily truths. Echoes that live in the back of my mind while I’m pacing the sidelines or rinsing shampoo out of my hair at 11:03 a.m. It’s not just a game. It’s never just a game. It’s their dreams. My name is on the program, but it’s their hearts out there on that court.
Are they warming up?
Should I go stand next to them? Hover a bit?
Will that make them nervous?
Every move feels like a tightrope. One misstep and it’s not just the scoreboard that reflects it—it’s an email from a parent, a post on social media, a cold meeting with the administration. “We got some feedback.” That’s code for someone’s upset. And you start wondering if a single loss, a lineup decision, or a timeout too early might actually cost you your job.
Imagine your child getting their first job—working hard, staying up late, putting everything they have into it—and someone posts online, “They have no business being out there.” Or the one that sticks like a splinter in my chest: “They’re practically killing these kids’ spirits.”
Imagine that being said about your child. Imagine the tears, the fear, the self-doubt.
Now imagine it’s your kid just trying to do what they think is right. Because I’m somebody’s kid too. And every coach out there, even the grizzled veterans, still goes home and feels all of it. We carry it. Quietly.
In most communities, if it were about anyone else, we’d call it what it is: cyberbullying. But if it’s a coach, suddenly it’s “just an opinion.” A community concern. A vent. An act of courage.
Did you know in our state, over 50 coaching jobs were posted in a single day? That’s not coincidence. That’s burnout. That’s fear. That’s defeat. Some of the greatest minds in the game are walking away saying, “I don’t know anymore. But I know I can’t go another day enabling the entitlement around sports.”
And yet, if you ask any state champion coach—any truly great coach—they’ll say the same thing:
Standards are not negotiable.
We’re not out here to be popular. We’re here to build something that matters. To create a culture, a team, a legacy. That takes discipline, expectations, and the willingness to be the bad guy in someone else’s narrative. Even when it hurts.
So next time you wonder what’s going through a coach’s head before the big game, during a timeout, or in the shower on an otherwise ordinary morning—just know this: we care more than we show. We question ourselves more than you know. And we love these kids like our own.
We carry all of it, all day.
Because somewhere, deep down, even through the stress, the pressure, the noise—we still believe it’s worth it.
And that’s why we keep showing up.
Even when it hurts.
Even when it’s lonely.
Even when the stands are loud and the inbox is full of doubt.
Young coaches, before you throw it in—remember this: YOU HAVE AN ENTIRE COMMUNITY.
One thing many underestimate is the power of the coaching bond and the tribe you didn’t even know you were a part of. When it feels like the world is against you, know there’s a whole army of us who get it. Who’ve been there. Who are still there.
Don’t give up.
The Lord didn’t just randomly hand you this dream. He planted it in your heart for a purpose. He called YOU—not the louder one, not the flashier one—you. And that means He will qualify you. He’ll equip you through the fire, not around it.
You’ll face adversity, not because you’re weak, but because He needs someone brave enough to ride the storm and come out the other side with a testimony. With wisdom. With strength. And with the ability to teach many what resilience, faith, and leadership really look like.
So hold on. It’s not the end.
And if you still believe in what you’re doing—even through the tears, even when it feels like no one sees the full picture—KEEP GOING.
You’re not alone. You were chosen for this.
And we need you.
Keep the whistle. Keep the faith. Keep showing up.