On the Field: The Lessons Begin
I’m not going to call you Mister anything,’ I tell the deputy principal, and the boys all snort sniggering as if I’ve just handed them a secret pass to rebellion. The scene is classic: a semi-circle of students, a rugby ball in hand, and a coach who believes that the best lessons come with a little grit and a lot of practice. Today’s mission is simple in theory: teach the basic pass, then pepper in variations, and watch the boys grow not only with the ball but with confidence.
“Today, I’m going to teach you guys a thing or two about passing this beautiful object,” I say, drawing their focus. The dialogue is light, but the undercurrent is sharpened by years of games won and games lost. When I ask for names of passes, the room replies in order: “Basic pass,” from Leo; “Spin pass,” from Brian; and “Pop pass,” from Johnny. It’s gratifying to hear these terms roll off the tongues of kids who’ve inherited the sport from generations of players and coaches.
The Classroom of the Field
As I demonstrate, I remind them that skill isn’t just instinct; it’s a cultivated sequence of steps. Run straight, hold the ball with both hands, keep your eyes on the receiver, and aim at chest-height just in front of them. The rhythm should feel second nature after enough repetition. Then a voice slices through the coach’s notes: a student who’s quick to remind us that some basics have already sunk in since their five-year-old days playing mini rugby in Wanderers.
That boy, Ifan, becomes a pivotal moment. He challenges the idea that the basics can’t be refined. He learns that the journey from youth rugby to senior competition—like the Leinster Schools Senior Cup track—demands unlearning old habits that no longer serve the team. Ifan’s courage to admit what he doesn’t know is exactly the kind of leadership the squad needs to hear from a peer as they chase higher levels of competition.
Authority Tested: A Deputy in Slippers
Enter Slippers McCrory, the deputy principal with a habit of planting a pointed question mid-practice: did you park in my space? The moment is comedic, but it’s also a reminder that leadership wears many faces. He demands that the team return to class and enforces consequences if they don’t. My response is to keep the focus on the exercise and let the students see that I won’t be cowed or distracted from the lesson at hand. The exchange underscores a simple truth: authority in schools is a balancing act between discipline and mentorship, and sports can be a powerful arena to practice both.
When the staff confrontation ends, I circle back to the basics. The team isn’t just learning to pass; they’re learning about boundaries, respect, and how to stand up for themselves in the face of authority. Some moments will be dismissed as banter, others as discipline-in-disguise, but every moment is a chance to model leadership under pressure.
A Moment of Reflection
The class disperses, and the real lesson lingers: rugby is a mirror of life’s continuous practice—mastery comes through repetition, resilience, and the willingness to unlearn and relearn. Ifan’s question, Slippers’ challenge, and the boys’ evolving chatter all point to a larger truth: football fields, gymnasiums, and school corridors are all classrooms. The goal is not merely to pass a ball but to pass on a mindset that says, “We learn, we adapt, we lead.”
As the sun dips, the team lingers a moment longer. They’re ready for the next drill, and I’m ready to guide them through it—with the same patient rigor, the same respect for the basics, and the understanding that every pass is a chance to teach something bigger than the game itself.
