I’m certain some people find this outrageous – or just off-putting – and that’s ok. This is simply my way of saying this blog is probably not for you, and it might be best to unsubscribe.
But please try to consider my point of view.
If you’ve ever played a competitive sport at an appreciable level, there is an unquenchable fire that burns within your bowels. It’s there immediately before and during a match. And the embers remain long after a game or your playing days are over. They remain docile until the topic of the sport resurfaces, and depending on the context, can grow into an inferno.
There’s a cauldron of profanity within Kobe Bryant, Tiger Woods, Xavi Hernandez, Rafael Nadal, Hope Solo, et al. And sometimes they can’t contain it. Coaches are no exception. Sometimes the passion comes through, and what you know or believe to be the truth escapes!
But society demands we place a lid on it.
I’m not saying that’s wrong. In fact, I agree we should all try to be proper. For the most part, I think that veneer can show your level of education and upbringing.
However, it is within that inferno that the raw truth resides. And in many cases when we filter it, a lot of the deep lying meaning and sentiment gets lost in translation. Critically important points can come out innocuous with little impact, and hence no learning or motivation happens.
For years I’ve worked as an engineer and scientist, and never have I used profanity in my writings or presentations. It’s just not needed in any way, shape, or form. It’s a place of business, I’m a professional, and that’s that.
But here we’re talking soccer.
And unless I become employed as a coach where I must represent someone’s brand, I will take the opportunity to show you some of the raw unvarnished truth. The stuff most everyone in the know is not allowed to say.
I want to do my best to move you, to connect with you at that level. Not at the superficial daisy-picking one. You can only get so far there.
So again, if this is not your cup of tea or you can’t handle the drop of an f-bomb a couple times a year, then it’s time to move on.