
Photo by Kimberley French 1992
Explicitly State the Rules of the Game
State the rules of the game—nothing more is needed, except perhaps to set intentions or add constraints that still leave room for players to make their own choices. Saying, “Receive the ball this way,” isn’t about explaining rules; it’s an attempt to control behavior, to dictate motor skills. It imposes a traditional academic understanding of explicit teaching in an environment where it doesn’t belong. That approach misses the mark entirely when it comes to fostering leadership, creativity, and personal expression in sports. Sports should be seen as an open system of investigation, not a closed system of information. Exploration and discovery belong to the player, the one actually “doing.” As a coach on the sidelines—not in the game running around to dribble, pass, and shoot—your job isn’t to tell players how to play. It’s to adapt and change the game setup to bring out different experiences. Tactical details and movement patterns come later, in their own time.
Some people might say that loosening control would only bring chaos, that a game wouldn’t take shape without telling players exactly what to do. This is a misconception. Dribbling, passing, and shooting happen organically in any game, in any setting, and in any player—whether they’re learning implicitly or explicitly, whether they’re deaf, blind, or navigating physical challenges. The idea that a game won’t flow without control is flawed. People know how to play within the framework of the game without needing every move dictated to them.
Imagine a scenario:
It’s like telling Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men to accent the word “handle” in his line, “You can’t handle the truth,” so it sounds like, “You can’t HANDLE the truth.” Another director might say, “No, emphasize ‘you,’ so it becomes, ‘YOU can’t handle the truth.’” The writer jumps in, suggesting that it’s about truth and morals, so now it’s “you can’t handle the TRUTH.” The producer might finally cut in with, “Just stress the whole phrase: ‘you CAN’T handle the truth.’”
The irony here is obvious—everyone has a preference.
The tech crew, background actors, even the caterers may each think it should sound a different way. But who’s right? In truth, no one and everyone.
The core of the scene is simply, “You can’t handle the truth.” That’s the framework. The magic of a line like that is in the actor’s interpretation. Telling someone exactly how they must deliver it stifles exploration. In the same way, setting rules for the game provides structure, but if you truly want a player’s unique style to develop, avoid dictating every move. If something needs to change, modify the environment—introduce a different game, then return to the original game later to see what naturally unfolds.
It’s the player’s job to explore their truth within the game, adapting to the environment and following impulses in real-time, each impulse unique to them and their connection with teammates or personal skill. If change is necessary, adjust the game’s setup, not the players’ playing decisions. Players should have room to discover their “truth” in the game without it being controlled by someone else’s idea of how it should look. Youth sports are about the player’s experience in the moment, not about proving they can follow orders. Too often, coaching is presented as “freedom,” but only after detailing how to do it “correctly.”
Take a small example:
I watched several games where the goalkeeper punted and kicked the ball far downfield every time. Curious, I later asked why. The players explained that in the pre-game talk, the coach instructed them to kick it long every time. Ah-hah! That’s a seemingly harmless directive (explicit instruction), yet it shaped the entire game. The same can happen in subtle ways, like telling players to “move up” or “step back.” These suggestions may seem minor, but they inch toward ownership of the game, leaving little space for a player’s genuine, unfiltered learning experiences.
When we, as coaches, step in with these constant nudges, we rob players of the chance to experience natural consequences. How else will they understand and learn from the game if they’re never allowed to discover outcomes on their own? Let their learning stay theirs. As coaches, our learning lies in observation, in creating games that reveal new learning opportunities without steering players’ every move. Youth sports should provide a platform for personal growth and exploration. The coach’s role is to adapt the environment—allowing the player’s choices within it.
Watching players navigate a game their own way can be eye-opening. They may see solutions we never considered. Witnessing those unique interpretations is the reward of coaching. But if we guide every action in a way that fits our own understanding of the game, we stifle innovation and close off the curiosity that fuels play. Most coaches mean well; I’ve never met one with bad intentions. Yet even with the best intentions, we can sometimes miss the mark.
Our role as coaches is to set up games that foster learning without overshadowing the players’ own discoveries. We should consider a new title for someone who designs environments that nurture creativity and expression—someone who co-creates experiences instead of controlling them. Ultimately, authority belongs to the environment we create, not to us as coaches. The players’ experience is theirs alone, and it’s our privilege to witness it as they build confidence and resilience.
“You can’t handle the truth.”
How will you change the game?
Explicitly State Rules
Freedom of Exploration
Observe
Listen
Adapt
Embrace what you witness—and change the game
“There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way, and not starting.” —Buddha
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