Coaching, Teaching, and the Work of Stewardship

I did not originally set out to become a coach. Like many people who end up in that role, I arrived there through circumstance and proximity. I was already teaching when a student I worked with, who played rugby for the university, learned about my background in the sport. The program had an opening, he recommended me, and I accepted the position.

At that point in my life the transition made sense. I was still playing, but I was getting older and injuries were taking longer to heal. Rugby was a game I loved deeply, and coaching was a way to remain inside the game while passing experience to a younger generation of players.

Over time, however, the reason I continued coaching changed. At first it was about staying connected to the sport. Now it is about the people who play it.

Rugby gave me a great deal when I was younger. As a former member of the military, I had experienced a form of brotherhood that is difficult to replace once it disappears from your daily life. Rugby replicated parts of that experience. It was not identical, but it filled a similar space. It demanded commitment, trust, and collective effort toward a shared goal.

Coaching allows me to help create that environment for others.

Every year a team resets. The roster changes. Personalities change. Strengths and weaknesses change. The dynamic shifts constantly. That is part of the appeal. You are always presented with a new group of people who must learn how to function as a unit. Watching individuals grow into a cohesive team remains one of the most satisfying parts of the job.

But coaching is often misunderstood. People assume coaching is primarily about expertise in a sport. In reality, the sport is usually the easy part. Coaches are subject-matter experts in their sport. We know the systems, skills, and strategies. The real difficulty lies elsewhere.

The difficult part is understanding people.

You have to understand who you are teaching. How they learn. What motivates them. Whether the way you are delivering information is actually being retained. A perfectly designed drill or explanation is useless if it does not reach the people it is meant to serve. In that sense, coaching is not primarily a sport profession. It is a people profession.

That realization changed the way I approach coaching, and it parallels the way I think about teaching more broadly.

When you play a sport for many years, many actions become automatic. You stop thinking about why you do certain things. Your body simply knows. But coaching requires the opposite skill. You have to slow down and examine those automatic behaviors. You have to break them apart and explain them.

Why do we position ourselves this way?

Why do we execute a particular movement under pressure?

Why does this tactical choice matter in this situation?

This translation from instinctive action to teachable knowledge is a skill in itself. It requires reflection and patience. Experience has not changed the core of what I do as a coach, but it has changed how thoughtfully I approach the process. Over time I have had to take the game that lived in my body and translate it into my mind, so that it can be shared with others.

The same challenge exists in teaching. Expertise alone does not make someone an effective instructor. Knowledge has to be translated into forms that other people can understand and use. That requires paying attention to the learners themselves. The values that guide my coaching remain simple: 

Respect, Commitment, Fundamentals, Integrity, and Passion.

Players should respect the game and the people brave enough to play it. Coaches should never lie to their players. Everyone involved should commit to getting better, whether that means improving skills, fitness, knowledge, or leadership. Fundamentals matter because fundamentals hold up under pressure. Passion matters because this is difficult work and without genuine care for it, the effort quickly becomes hollow.

At the same time, coaching requires perspective.

Players have lives outside the sport. At the collegiate level, they are students first. They are here to earn degrees and build futures. No match is worth an injury that disrupts that path. The same logic applies at the senior level, where players have jobs, families, and children. Rugby may be an important part of life, but it cannot replace life itself. A responsible coach has to keep that hierarchy clear.

That perspective also matters when dealing with loss and disappointment. Rugby is a demanding sport. Matches last eighty minutes with very few breaks. Substitutions are limited. Players often remain on the field the entire time, absorbing physical punishment while maintaining focus and discipline. Because so much effort goes into preparation, losses can be difficult to process.

Most of the pressure players feel does not come from coaches or spectators. It comes from themselves. After a loss, athletes often replay mistakes in their heads. Maybe their fitness was not where it needed to be. Maybe their opponent was better prepared. Maybe a technical error changed the outcome of the match.

Those reflections can be productive, but they also carry risks. Players sometimes respond by overcorrecting: pushing themselves too hard, training too aggressively, trying to fix everything at once. That is where coaching becomes guidance.

I often explain it with a simple analogy. The team is on a road, moving toward a destination. After a setback, we can’t slam on the brakes and stop, and we can’t floor it and lose control. Instead, we set a reasonable speed limit. We continue moving forward at a pace that allows everyone to stay on the road together. Progress in sport, like progress in life, is usually steady rather than dramatic.

When I think about what I ultimately hope players take from my coaching, three ideas stand out: respect, love, and confidence.

Respect and love for the game, for their teammates, and for themselves. Rugby demands courage, and anyone willing to step onto the field deserves recognition for that. The game only survives if people continue to support it; by playing, coaching, refereeing, volunteering, or simply showing up as fans.

Confidence is equally important. Rugby is an honest sport. It quickly reveals where you currently stand in terms of skill, fitness, and resilience. That honesty can be humbling, but it is also empowering. It places you on a path. The sport has room for all kinds of players, of all body types and abilities. Everyone can contribute something meaningful. Confidence grows from recognizing that place and working to improve it.

Eventually, the physical side of the game fades. When players are older and their time on the pitch is behind them, what remains are the relationships, the memories, and the lessons carried forward into other parts of life.

If players leave the experience with respect, love for the game and each other, and confidence in themselves, then the coaching has done its job.

At that point, the work becomes something larger than sport. It becomes stewardship.

To be a good steward means caring for something larger than yourself and ensuring it continues beyond your own participation. In rugby that means helping maintain a culture of respect, commitment, and mutual support. In education it means preparing students not simply to replicate existing knowledge, but to carry it forward, challenge it, and reshape it for the future.

The role of a coach or teacher is temporary. Players and students move on. New groups arrive.

But if the work has been done well, the values and confidence they carry with them will continue to influence the communities they join, the professions they enter, and the lives they build.

Our responsibility as coaches and teachers is to trust what we know and be honest about what we don’t. No coach knows everything. Our mission is to break knowledge down and communicate it clearly. Players respond to honesty. 

Be honest.
Have respect.
Show love for the people and the work.

Lead well. Be a coach.