Bonding over a ball

As inauspicious beginnings go, the first time I played football with the child who is now my stepson ranks somewhere between Vinnie Jones getting sent off in his first match as Wales captain and Nick Clegg turning a bright shade of blue on his first sniff of power.

Yet, despite the calamitous start, what happened served as the first baby steps in a relationship that has flourished because of football and is now as rock solid as Vinnie’s granite forehead.

After professing a desire to go in goal, Z, my stepson, took guard between the two flowerpots and asked me to shoot. I delicately chipped the flat ball towards him. Unfortunately I overhit it, and watched in horror as it bounced too close, spat up off the wet grass and smacked him full on in the face.

“Waaaahhhhhhhh, I want my Mum,” he cried. Running over to see if he was OK, my brain swarmed with emotions, most of them containing swear words. How could he trust me? Do I get his mum? Shall I just run out of that gate and forget all about it?

Fortunately, by the time I reached him, we had both calmed down. I picked him up, wiped away his tears, checked he wasn’t hurt, and we carried on. Alongside proposing, I consider it the best decision I have ever made.

Before I get into the benefits of bonding with your child though sport, the situation needs context. I consider myself very lucky, in that, when I met my wife, Z couldn’t catch, ride a bike or kick a ball. He was lacking a male figure in his life, and I’m a sports-mad journalist who has played football, cricket, tennis and golf all my life.

Yet, as fortunate as this was for me, I was also aware that the lack of a male figure for Z would have already had an impact. My parents split up when I was 11 and I had a difficult relationship with both my father and stepfather. I decided that I wouldn’t let this happen to Z. I wouldn’t back off if his dad – on his infrequent moments of ‘getting involved’ – was bothered. I would do everything in my power to provide him with the stability that I lacked.

When he joined the local junior football club at the beginning of this season, I decided to decline the offer of coaching. I just wanted him to enjoy it on his own terms. Yet midway through the season, an influx of kids who had been let go from other, more selective, local teams meant that we had to form a sixth team at under-9 level. When it became apparent that neither of the existing coaches for Z’s team wanted to move with their child, I said I would do it.

I don’t regret it at all, and neither does Z. Most of these kids were lacking confidence from their experiences with other teams and their parents have been effusive in their praise of the work I have tried to do in making them believe in themselves.

But, and this is where I’m talking directly to you, they have shied away from helping. They’ll make bacon sarnies and shout from the sidelines, but they are allowing their own fear of looking silly to stop them getting involved.

Every week at training and matches I ask for a ref so I can concentrate on the team. For the first three months, nothing. Excuses ranged from “I don’t know the rules” to “my leg hurts” to “I’ve got shoes on”. It’s one thing saying this to me, but they say it to the kids.

I watch them pleading, “Please Dad, be the ref” only to walk away disappointed. The kids DO NOT care if you don’t know the rules, they just want you involved. In the end, the only way I could get anyone to referee was to give them a choice between that and coaching. Still, six months on, not one parent has responded to my request for an assistant.

I’m not saying it will irreparably affect your relationship, but it will certainly add another string to a bow that needs to weather the storms of a lifetime.

I understand your nerves, I know that you worry about favouring your child, or making yourself look foolish, or becoming over-animated, or even falling flat in the mud wearing your new coat. I know you’re scared they will play up because you are coach, because it will happen. I recognise that at times you need a break, after work, and homework, and swimming and whatever else.

But getting involved in the sport they choose to do is a chance for you to have a relationship away from the constraints of family life, just you and your son or daughter. That is priceless.

Five years on from smashing my stepson in the face, I have a friend, a son and a training partner. He tells me he loves me three or four times a day, we support the same team, laugh at the same jokes, have football quizzes most nights before bed, and the trust gained through a ball has leaked into every area of our relationship.

A few weeks ago, when I had to miss a training session, I was gutted. At 11.45am on the dot, as it finished, Z rang me and said: “Guess what, we didn’t miss you today, because I was you, I picked the team and told them not to switch off when we scored.” I put the phone down and cried.

Football isn’t the only thing we’ve got, but it was the spark that started the relationship, the fire that let it grow and the blaze that burns in both of us.

So grab your boots, leave your pride at home and buy a whistle. You’re going to need it…

Read More:

James Brown: A disaster brings a family together

Chris Middleton: What to buy for the Football crazy

Phillip Hodson: Be a happier step-parent