You Can Lose and Still Win

Last week I wrote about what a successful season actually looks like. This week I want to push that idea further — because I don't think it stops at development on the field.

There's a way to win in this game that has nothing to do with the final result of a game. And if you're doing the job right, sometimes you can lose the match and still walk away having won something far more important.

The Real Job

Here's something I've come to believe: our job as coaches isn't just to develop soccer players. It's to set these kids up for success — in soccer, yes, but also in life.

If all I do is make a kid a better player and I send him out into the world the same person he came in as, I didn't do my job. The game is the vehicle. It's not the destination.

So when I think about winning, I think about it a lot bigger than ninety minutes on a Saturday or Monday.

The Conversations That Actually Matter

Let me give you an example of what winning can look like.

Say you've got a kid who's struggling in the classroom. Grades slipping, not taking school seriously. As a coach, the easy thing is to “stay in your lane” — that's not your problem, you coach soccer.

But you don't stay in your lane. You sit him down. You have the hard conversation. You explain to him that if he wants to play in college someday, those grades are going to matter just as much as anything he does on the field. Maybe more.

And here's the thing — maybe college soccer isn't even his ultimate goal. Maybe that's not where his path leads. But by having that conversation, you've set him up for success regardless of where he ends up. You've shown him that the standard applies everywhere, not just between the lines of the soccer field.

That's a win. It just won't show up in any standings.

Holding the Standard

Here's a harder one. And this one's a real example.

A few years ago, I got a text from a friend letting me know he'd just seen one of my players out at a bar in the city on a Friday night. The kid was seventeen.

As it happened, I was out with some friends myself that night, so I went down to the bar. I pulled him aside quietly — I didn't make a scene, because I genuinely didn't want him getting into any actual trouble or drawing attention to the fact that he shouldn't have been in there. I just talked to him. I asked him what this looked like. Whether he saw any of his teammates around. How it reflected on me, on him, on the club. Then I made him leave.

The next day, I called him. I told him he wouldn't be participating with the team for the first month of the season because of it. He could come to practice, but he couldn’t participate.

He was furious with me. Didn't understand it. Thought it was unfair.

A year later — before the start of his college freshman season — he texted me out of nowhere to thank me. He said holding him to that standard helped shape his future. Now, I'm not going to sit here and take credit for who that kid became. I'm sure there were a lot of factors at play, people and moments far more important than me. But I'd like to think I played some small part.

That's the thing about holding the standard. In the moment, it's uncomfortable. The kid might resent you for it. But you're not coaching for the moment. You're coaching for who they become.

If a player is part of your team — part of the culture you're trying to build — you have a responsibility to make sure they're representing it to the highest standard. You can't preach culture and then look the other way when it gets inconvenient. The standard has to be the standard, all the time, or it isn't one.

I Don't Always Get It Right

I'm certainly not writing this from some pedestal.

I've made plenty of mistakes. I've said things I regret. I've handled situations in ways I wish I could go back and do differently. Holding a standard for your players means holding one for yourself too — and I don't always meet it.

But that's part of it. You learn. You own it. You get better. The same growth I'm asking these kids to go through is growth I'm still going through myself. None of us have this figured out completely, and I think the day you believe you do is the day you stop improving.

It's all part of the process — for them and for me.

Losing and Winning at the Same Time

This is the part I really want to land.

You can lose a game and win at the same time. You can lose a game and still have a kid walk off that field more accountable, more responsible, and better than he was when he walked on.

If your players are competing the right way, representing the right things, growing into people of character — you're winning. Even on the days the result says you lost.

That doesn't mean we don't want to win matches. We do. I want my teams to compete and I want them to win. But I refuse to measure the entire value of what we do by something as narrow as a final score.

Win the right way, and even your losses mean something.

That's it for this week. See you next Monday — next week's about confidence: where it actually comes from, and why telling a kid to "be more confident”, might not always work.

— Coach Frim