The Secret GAA Coach: Parental slings and arrows puncture the joy of a dream coaching role

Pic: Stephen Shannon/iStock

As a newly retired hurler in my early 30s, it wasn’t long before I found myself back involved as the sort of bib-wearing, sideline-marauding evangelist that I have since grown to despise.

I planned to cherry-pick the most notable characteristics of Cody, Loughnane, Liam Griffin, Justin McCarthy, and Michael Bond and blend them all with my own personality to create the perfect coaching mastermind.

Cones and bibs, sliotars and new hurleys galore. I had invested in a new tracksuit, stop-watch and, to complete the image, a brand-new pair of Puma Kings. If nothing else, I was determined to look the part to anyone who happened to be passing by as we trained.

Training sessions went reasonably well. I had inherited a talented team of U13s who had already been competing for honours in the years before my arrival. 

I introduced some new drills and encouraged them to do everything on the move. After a few scares along the way, we managed to win the U13 league. Players, mentors, and parents spent the day back at the clubhouse marking the success with pizza and soft drinks.

Those of a certain age and disposition progressed to the ale and porter which, inevitably, led to a loosening of the tongues as evening approached. 

A nod, a wink, another drink and before long, questions and accusations about tactics, player positions, substitutions, and perceived favouritism were being thrown at the mentors.

Despite our success and the fact that, as a mentor group, we had made a conscious effort to maximise the game time for every single player, there was a perception in certain quarters that some players were getting a raw deal. 

I had been keeping a record of attendance at training (disclaimer: it was pre-GDPR) and had detailed reports on every one of our matches which then informed our decision-making when it came to team selection and game time.

In other words, I was confident that I was on solid ground as I pushed back on the ill-informed narrative that was developing. 

I told the wounded parties I would be happy to go through this with them in detail at a later juncture and didn’t want to let it spoil what had been a significant achievement for the players. Not one of them took me up on the offer but it did leave an enduring sour taste.

As a player, I had been accustomed to hearing less than pleasant opinions about a performance (not necessarily my own, for the record) after a defeat. After a victory, methods were invariably airbrushed to enhance the outcome.

Was the well-worn cliché of ‘winning and losing as a team’ a figment of my imagination or something a group of self-obsessed players clung to in order to reassure themselves that they would never be identified as the poster boy for failure?

The notion that by devoting my time and energy, imparting whatever experience I had gained in my years playing hurling, encouraging youngsters to challenge themselves in the hope that, one of those days, the magic of the game would reveal itself to them, had the look of a fool’s
errand. 

Beneath the thin veneer of parental support, a thorny branch was being readied to fustigate yours truly.

Of course, none of this was new. I’m sure my role models at the start of that year had all endured similar, if not worse. 

As a player, Cody had been thrown to the wolves after Kilkenny’s All Ireland defeat to Cork in 1978. 

As manager of Clare’s U21s in 1992, Loughnane was blamed for their failure. 

In both cases, the men in question seemed to take it in their stride before re-emerging to conquer all before them. 

Presumably, with a clearer idea of where the line between their friends and their enemies lay.

I resolved to stick with it. I felt the players were responding well to my efforts and the team was proving to be a match for anyone.

I resigned myself to the fact that there would always be an amount of dissatisfaction among non-starting players and their parents and that I was more likely to lose friends by fulfilling my duties as a coach.

I had the support of people I respected within the club and the mentor group. I also had the reassurance that, as a child, I had been coached by some of the most inspirational figures my county had ever produced.

Every match and training session brought huge excitement — new skills and ideas, new problems to solve, and new and frequently hilarious expressions, some of which I still use today — to encourage players to do things a certain way.

In honour of these great hurling men, I would try to replicate what they had done for me by passing the baton to the next generation.