Okay so last season totally sucked for Maple Mountain football. Like seriously bad – we barely won three games all year. Parents were complaining, kids looked miserable in the hallways, and honestly? I felt like a total failure walking onto that field every Friday night. Something had to give.
I figured, screw it, time to actually see how the decent programs run. Maple Mountain’s coach, Coach Miller, kept popping up because somehow his guys always looked tougher, played smarter. Didn’t matter if they had less talent some years, they just competed. So yeah, I basically stalked him – respectfully! Went to his summer scouting combines, watched his offseason workouts, even hung around after junior varsity games just chatting up his assistants. Little stuff, trying to piece it together.
Digging Into The Dirt
First thing that hit me? How dead simple his main drills were. Like, stuff you’d expect JV kids to run. We’re talking endless reps of the same blocking sled drill, same tackling pad circuit, over and over and over. Seemed boring as hell. Asked him about it point blank one sweltering July morning while his kids were grinding away, sweat dripping off their noses. He just shrugged and said something like, “Fancy fails when you’re tired. Simple works always.” Made me realize my complicated playbook installs were useless if the basic blocks crumbled in the 4th quarter.
So, I threw out half my practice plan right then. Seriously. Went back to basics:
- Monday became “Blocking Day.” Nothing sexy. Just o-line vs. d-line, sleds, bags – pure toughness. Forget complex schemes; hold your ground first.
- Wednesday turned into “Tackling Circuit.” Every position, every kid, 20 minutes of pure form, wrap-up, drive. Even my quarterbacks. No excuses.
- Friday walkthrough? Rep, rep, rep. Core run plays only. Keep it simple stupid – K.I.S.S. wasn’t just a poster anymore.
Our boys groaned, no lie. It looked remedial compared to what the flashy schools were posting online. But slowly… the hitting got harder.
Fixing Broken Voices
Second thing I noticed hanging around Coach Miller? That dude NEVER yelled. Okay, rarely yelled. His voice stayed level, even when someone screwed up royally. Meanwhile, I was hoarse by halftime every week, screaming myself silly, blaming the kids, blaming the refs – blaming everyone. It wasn’t working, obviously.
So I forced myself to shut the hell up. Seriously hard. First game trying it? We fumbled the opening kickoff. My throat instantly burned with the urge to scream. But I just… walked over, pulled the kid aside, kept my voice low. “Eyes up next time. You got this.” Saw the surprise on his face. He nodded. Didn’t fumble again.
Started doing that in practice too. Individual mistakes? Pull the player aside quietly. Group messes up? Bring them in close, talk calmly. Explain the why behind the error, not just the error. It felt weird. Unnatural. Took weeks. But the kids started listening more. Less flinching when I walked near. Less fear in their eyes when things went wrong. Accountability shifted to them – not me screaming at them.
The Gut Punch That Changed Everything
And then the third thing. Remembered talking to one of Coach Miller’s longtime assistants after a tough loss for them. Mentioned how damn together their sideline looked, even down big. The guy got quiet. Said Miller had a rule after he took over years ago: “One voice only.” Turns out Miller inherited a total mess – parents undermining coaches, players ignoring position coaches, quarterback sneaking his Dad’s play calls onto the wristband. A circus.
Miller apparently just snapped one day. Called the whole team, all the parents, into the gym. Laid it out: “You hired me to coach. One voice – mine. Don’t like it? Hit the bricks. Complain? See ya. I call the plays. My coaches coach. Your kid? He plays. Period.” Said parents walked out. Players quit. Total chaos. But… the ones who stayed? They bought in. Completely. That ‘one voice’ thing clicked.
Realized my mess was similar. Got parents chirping in my ear after practice, kids hearing different things from position coaches, me second-guessing calls because of the noise. So, I went Miller-style. Held that brutal meeting. Didn’t sugarcoat it: “You believe in this staff? Good. Play. You don’t? Transfer portal’s open.” Lost three starters. Their parents yelled. But the locker room? Suddenly quiet. Tense, maybe, but focused. They knew who was driving the bus.
Seeing the Boring Stuff Pay Off
Fast forward to this season. We ain’t winning state, okay? But we’re winning games we shouldn’t. Beat Northwood last week – team that crushed us by 30 last year. How?
- 4th quarter, tied? Our o-line moved them two yards when everyone knew we were running. Basic power play we drilled 500 times.
- Their star receiver broke free? My backup corner, kid who quit soccer to try football, made a solo tackle in open field. Perfect form. Didn’t panic.
- Opposing coach screamed at the refs? I just talked calmly to my guys. Focused on the next play. They did too.
No magic trick. Just… boring, grinding work on fundamentals, staying calm, and finally having one damn voice in charge. Looks basic. Feels basic. Wins games.
Why am I telling you this? Because I nearly got fired last year. Was updating my resume after that final loss. Tried being fancy, tried screaming my head off, tried making everyone happy. Failed miserably. Sometimes you need to swallow your pride, copy the guy winning with less, and get back to the stupid basics. Sweat the small stuff, shut your mouth, and run your own damn program. Simple. Not easy. But simple works.