Extract
From Chapter 6: Leaving Jackals at the Gate
A GDI (General Disturbance Indicator) would have gone haywire last week at the 2005 National Futsal titles held in Canberra. I had been coaching an Under 11 ACT squad. After a reasonably close loss to another unnamed state, the fans of the opposition side began their post-match tribal stuff. The players were delightful and began a little circular jig with each other. Good for them. But they were not the problem.
At the full-time whistle, a visiting and victorious father let out a full-pitched howl with his mouth as agape as the entrance to Luna Park. The nerves on his forehead were writhing like snakes. The intensity was so massive that cracks started appearing in the ceiling. His scream was angry, joyless and strangely full of vindication - as if my Under 11s were responsible for some war atrocity which resulted in the torture and death of his loved ones - and these dastardly perpetrators were finally receiving some ultimate retribution here in a little Canberran indoor sports centre. Then the remaining supporters all gathered together and clasped each other desperately, close to tears, as if a judge had pronounced the death sentence on a serial killer. This was not a celebration of the outcome of a closely-fought junior futsal game. No. There was a deeper, desperate sense of having defeated something evil inside and outside of themselves. Momentarily, through this little win, the jackals had dominated over something in their possibly joyless lives which had nothing to do with futsal or little boys. Unfortunately, it made my losing eleven-year-olds feel like crap.
I looked at my ‘serial killers’ who were down but not destroyed (as we were well-practised at needing to bounce back). I felt compelled to ask Mr Edvard Munch if we had done something unforgivable to him in a past life. To maybe request that he pipe down with his Braveheartisms as he was making my diminutive troopers feel like they were the bad guys. But instead I went and shook his hand, dryly commented that he was obviously very “happy” that he had won and decided to spend my remaining post-match energy to help my Under 11s understand the relative insignificance of the loss in a pool match. And explain to them that when they win a game they are actually allowed to enjoy it rather than employ it as some sort of spiritual laxative.
In contrast, I recount with greater pleasure how the Sydney Morning Herald writer Peter FitzSimons heard (from a reader) about a priceless curtain-raiser to an inner city grandfinal between two Under 9 sides. An Abbotsford side was down by two goals in a match where the parents of both sides were screaming their lungs out at the poor kids and adding fuel to an already tense situation. Somewhat bravely, the Abbotsford coach collected his side together and led them in a round of “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands”. As FitzSimons reported:
The Abbotsford team went out in the second half and proceeded to score three unanswered goals, thus winning the game, sending the team and the coach back into another chorus of , "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands". It was an amazing sight, and I only wish I had a coach like that.
Last year, my little Radford Under 12s participated at the Futsal Schools Nationals in Brisbane and would do a little Jamaican dance and make-up nonsense rhymes suggesting they could bake really good cakes as well as play excellent futsal and that we were going to steal the opposition’s girlfriends as well as the game. I noted with pride that a couple of these little legends went on to be selected in an ACT Futsal representative side for the recent Nationals and had introduced a bizarre Hawaiian hand-waving dance entitled “Salute to the Sun” to their stunned teammates, requesting them to perform their funky, solar salutation prior to important games. While many may think that this is idiotic behaviour, I think it’s extremely commendable. If anything, it reminds all and sundry at the junior sporting event that we are dealing with kids and that it doesn’t hurt to have a bit of fun, enjoyment and entertainment at something which is increasingly becoming far too serious for its own good. So if you’re happy - and you know it - clap or wave those happy hands and do a little solar-powered dance...
Go on.
