Coaching is confidence. One decision after another, from team formation to practice design to in-game tactical maneuvers, a relentless and rapid express of yes this but not that, if X then Y and not Z, here we stop and there we go. And each of these decisions must be made with boldness and faith in the rightness of that choice—sure, coaches perpetually adjust on the fly, but even those course corrections are not an act of doubt but a demonstration of resolve.
Each successive decision about that which we will do simultaneously requires us to reject that which we will not. “Reject” seems like a harsh word, but in a choppy sea of it depends, unwavering absolutes are a means by which we can project certainty and vision: we never Olympic lift, we never play a zone against that formation, we never train in sand. To inspire trust in those we’re charged to lead, our coaching egos drive us to put a proverbial boot to the throat of each exercise, drill, tool, process, or option we’ve cast away—starving those alternatives of oxygen makes our own choices appear that much more robust.
So we watch our coaching peers and make sweeping judgments: I may not know everything, but at least I know not to do what THAT Bozo’s doing.
That moment is bracing—a win. We know none of the why, none of the context, nothing about the past-present-future of the athletes involved, nothing but the immediate display of what we’ve deemed useless—and we grind down our boot heel and flex.