On the first day of high school football practice, Coach Henderson ordered our team to run a warm-up lap on the cinder track that encircled the field. I had already been named a team captain and felt pretty good about myself as I jogged around the track, chatting with a teammate, a football tucked under my arm.
When we finished, the team gathered around Coach and we took a knee. His first order of business was to look straight at me and say, “Scott, that was unacceptable. From now on, if you don’t finish first every time we run laps, you are off the team. Understood?”
His words hit me like a bolt of lightning.
I knew he was right. I was a captain. I’d been a captain before. I knew better. I needed to lead by example.
“Yes, Coach,” I said, chastened.
That moment stuck with me. I learned that leadership means earning the title, not just wearing it.
Growing up in Thunder Bay, the best coaches I had — across many sports — held a place of reverence. It wasn’t just their praise that stayed with me; it was their high expectations and the discipline they demanded. Challenging athletes and holding them accountable are the way coaches show they care. But they also need to be encouraging. Coaches can’t make withdrawals without making deposits first.
Such coaches made me a better athlete — and, not to be overly dramatic, but also a better person.
I always dreamed of coaching, especially football. But for years, it didn’t seem likely. I didn’t have kids, and I worked evenings and weekends, so I couldn’t volunteer.
That changed when I became a father of twins.
At age six, my son and daughter announced they wanted to play house league hockey. Practices and games were on weekends, which I now had off, so I signed on as an assistant coach. I’d never played hockey, but I loved lacing up the skates and helping with drills, trying not to fall and embarrass myself. It was a joy to be on the ice with all the kids and to get to know them and their parents.
The next year, we signed up the kids for T-ball. I’d played baseball as a child and would have loved to coach, but my work schedule didn’t allow me to make the start of weeknight practices and games.
That changed in 2021 when my wife discovered a Saturday afternoon flag football league at Centennial Park. We signed up the kids and I shared head coaching duties with Coach Bernie, whose son was in the same class as the twins.
In the first game, on the first series, my son intercepted the ball and ran it back for a touchdown. We never trailed that game — or during the entire season — and brought home the trophy. I was particularly proud that in a division with only four girls, two were on our team and both contributed to our success.
Later, I coached an all-girls team made up of players from my daughter’s baseball team. None had played flag football before except my daughter. We lost every game that season but got better each week, almost winning our last game. The girls had fun and kept learning. So did I. Most of them returned for the next season and we brought home the trophy. Then we won the next season.
I’ve also been an assistant coach on two of my kids’ baseball teams, thanks to the pandemic and working from home, which allowed me to attend practices and games. Those teams didn’t win much, but the kids had fun, improved and learned what it means to work hard and get better.
In 2017, I co-wrote a bestselling parenting and coaching book with NHL hockey dad Karl Subban (“How We Did It: The Subban Plan for Success in Hockey, School and Life”). Karl had been one of my high school basketball coaches and remains an inspiration to me. One thing he taught me is that kids need to know early that they are good at something.
I’ve come to believe that “something” doesn’t have to be scoring touchdowns or winning trophies. It can be effort, resilience, teamwork. If a child knows they gave their best, that they got better, that they helped a teammate or got back up after falling, then they are good at something. They walk off the field a winner.
As a coach, I feel like a winner when a parent pulls me aside and says their child repeated something I said — or tells me their daughter loves the nickname I gave her, like “Mighty Mal.” Mallory’s mom once told me, “The kids are listening.”
The kids I coach are still young and I haven’t had a Coach Henderson moment with any of them — yet — but I try to instil a few simple lessons:
1. Don’t argue with the refs. (That’s my job.)
2. Focus on what you can control — your effort and your attitude.
I see far too many coaches take the game — and themselves — too seriously. Kids respond far better to intrinsic motivation (wanting to improve) than to screaming from the sidelines.
In December, 43 years after Coach Henderson held me accountable in front of the team, I had the chance to thank him. He came to my mother’s funeral in Thunder Bay. He had coached my two older brothers, too. His connection spanned decades. That’s the power of good coaching.
As for those warm-up laps — I never did finish first. One of our linebackers was a 400-metre runner on the track team and he was determined to win every time. He had something to prove, too. I ran as hard as I could, usually finishing in the top three. We pushed each other to be better.
That’s just what Coach Henderson wanted.
