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Screaming is not coaching

This may seem so apparent that it need not be said, but yet I must say it, however quietly: Screaming is not coaching.

Despite how obvious this may appear, people in that most important of coaching places, youth sports, sometimes find screaming as a primary communication method.

I know many great people coaching youth sports. They give many hours, almost always on a volunteer basis. Sometimes they get excited or frustrated. Sometimes they yell.

Then I see the maniacs, contorting themselves horribly, faces red, lips spit-dewed and a-quiver. They snarl. They foam. They are going to force little kids to run faster, leap higher, twirl more brilliantly through screaming.

But it is not coaching. It is not productive or instructive. It is simply screaming.

If you coach youth sports and have a personality any less volatile than Gandhi [1], you’ll have your moments of voice elevation. Sometimes you’re in a loud gym. Sometimes a ball is hurtling toward a youngster’s head while said youngster watches an ant crawl on a dandelion. Sometimes you see an exciting possibility. Your voice may up a notch. What I mean by screaming [2]is “to utter a long loud piercing cry, as from pain or fear” or “to speak […] in a heated hysterical manner.” I am talking about the systematic shriek-fests some coaches use as an excuse for coaching.

I don’t know why us youth coaches think screaming our heads off is good coaching. How many of us perform better when someone screams at us? I watch coaches go apoplectic and wonder what results they are getting, as opposed to not going apoplectic.

We do see lots of role models in big-time sports on TV. Many highly paid coaches spend whole games blustering on the sidelines, hollering, yelling, and stamping their feet. We may start to believe that’s what coaching is. But aside from doubtful results, remember these TV star coaches are directing their decibel-enhanced diatribes at people who make lots of money or whose performances are rewarded in ways that equal lots of money (big-time college “amateurs”). The scream recipients are also adults, and while these players would say they don’t get compensated to get yelled at, a few bucks has to make the shrieking pill go down more smoothly. Some speculate [3] us coaches can use a screaming bout to turn ourselves into the enemy, so the team unifies against us and works together better. Again, whether this works or not, this is psychological mind game is for adults. We may interchange coaching and screaming because we simply think kids will understand us better because we are louder.  This explanation does overlook the significant difference between hearing and listening, though.

We have our rationalizations, no doubt, but most coach screaming is pure lack of self control.

There are different kinds of coaching yowlers. Some coaches goof around in practice all week and then, come game time, put on the tie or fancy sweatsuit and start the yelling to demonstrate their commitment. “Come on, parents,” they say. “I am COACHING here, as you can hear quite clearly.” And while we might think of screaming as negative, there is also the coach who freaks out when a six-year-old scores a goal/point/tally. The coach jumps around the field as if the player, after decades of training, just set a world record. This type of excess also sends the team a clear, and bad, message: “You, oh great goal/point/tally scorer, you have touched my heart. You lesser members of the team,  you better generate goals/points/tallies if you are to affect the great coach so profoundly.”

If I thought that there was a pipeline between uncontrolled decibel elevation and performance, I’d stop right here.  If I saw how an elevated voice blasts into an athlete’s ear thus igniting brain cells which turn into impulses that move muscles in a more sophisticated way resulting in superior performance, I’d edit my title to SCREAMING IS COACHING, mashing the Caps Lock key to emphasize the point.

But I don’t see it. Few do. Former NFL coach and announcer John Madden [4], himself a bit excessive during his coaching tenure, had an interesting perspective on this [5] after watching former 49ers’ coach Mike Singletary [6] flip out at his quarterback during a game this season. Madden said, “I see youth football and I see high school football and coaches yelling at players and I cringe when I see it. I think people get the picture that’s what coaching is and believe me, that’s not what coaching is.”

So I’ll end with a plea. Youth organizations need to clamp down on the coach screamer. It’s questionable that a player at any level reacts effectively to a coach’s vocal spasms, but young players should not be asked to. Youth organizations should set rules in place to ensure that coaches who can’t control their communications aren’t allowed on the sidelines.

Admittedly, I haven’t coached any Olympic gold medalists or an NBA champs lately, but as a coach, I try to remember this comment by writer Paul Zimmerman [7] about former NFL coach Tony Dungy [8]: “I think the best motivation the players can have is to see their coach calm and in control, and most important, appearing to know what he is doing.”

Screaming is not coaching. You know what, it’s not parenting. It’s not teaching. And, as we saw in an example so vividly and sadly this week, it’s not politics. It’s screaming. It’s losing self-control when you should be communicating. Screaming does not help develop the skills or, more importantly, the self-confidence of young people, and I do not need the Caps Lock key to make this point.

Scott Warnock is a writer and teacher who lives in South Jersey. He is a professor of English at Drexel University, where he is also the Associate Dean of Undergraduate Education in the College of Arts and Sciences. Father of three and husband of one, Scott is president of a local high school education foundation and spent many years coaching youth sports.