"I Love Watching You Play"

Two coaching educators, Bruce Brown and Rob Miller, spent years asking college athletes a simple question: what did your parents say that you liked hearing most?

The answer that kept coming back was six words. I love watching you play.

It isn't a study and I won't dress it up as one. It's survived two decades of being repeated to parents in gyms and cafeterias, though, and I think it's survived because of what it does structurally rather than because it's a nice thing to say.

Why those particular words work

There's no evaluation in them. Not "you played well," which is a judgment he now has to agree or disagree with. Not "you're getting so good," which is a claim about trajectory that a bad Saturday can contradict. Just a statement about you, which he can't fail.

They mean exactly the same thing after a nine-three. That's the whole trick. Any sentence whose truth depends on how he played will eventually go unsaid on the day he most needs to hear something, and a young athlete notices the silence faster than he'd notice the words.

They put the pleasure on your side of the fence. He's not providing you with a service. You're enjoying something, the way you'd enjoy a piece of music. That's a subtly different relationship to be in with a parent, and kids feel the difference even if they couldn't name it.

And they're short enough to survive a parking lot. Anything longer becomes a conversation, and after a game he may not want one.

What it isn't

It isn't a trick to get him to open up. If you say it while waiting for him to respond, he'll hear the waiting.

It isn't a replacement for real conversation about lacrosse — those happen, usually a day later, usually starting with a question.

And it isn't a phrase to use forty times a season. Said every single week it becomes wallpaper, and a fifteen-year-old will start rolling his eyes at it, which is fair.

Once every few games, said plainly, while doing something else, is about right.

Suggestions on what you can do

Say it at a neutral moment. In the car on the way in, at dinner three days later, while he's doing something unrelated. Attached to a specific game it becomes a verdict on that game.

Make your own version of it. The exact words matter less than the structure: something warm, about you, that contains no assessment of him. I like these Saturdays. This is my favourite part of the week. Yours will sound more like you than mine does.

Say it after the bad ones too. Particularly then, and particularly without adding a second sentence that starts with "even though."

Watch what you say when he's not the subject. How you talk about his teammates on the drive home tells him what you actually measure, and it overrides anything you say to him directly. That's most of what quiet pressure is.

And let it sit. No follow-up question, no expectant pause. Say it and go back to the radio.

By age: third and fourth grade, say it often and freely, and don't be surprised when it gets no response at all. Fifth and sixth, this is when the comparing starts, and a sentence that can't be scored is genuinely steadying. Seventh and eighth, use it sparingly — this is the age where anything repeated becomes embarrassing, and the ice cream ritual is doing more of the work. Ninth and tenth, once or twice a season, said quietly. Eleventh and twelfth, say it at the last home game and mean it, because that's the one he'll remember.

A few things worth avoiding

Try not to add a coaching note onto the end. "I love watching you play — you were a little deep in the second half" undoes the whole thing and teaches him to brace after the first clause.

Go easy on the superlatives. "You're the best goalie in this league" is a burden dressed as a compliment, and he'll spend the next Saturday trying not to disprove it.

Try not to say it only after wins. If the pattern exists, he'll find it.

And don't say it if it isn't true. There'll be seasons you're not enjoying it much, and a young athlete can hear a performance. On those days, "I'm glad you're mine" is honest and does the same job.

The version worth remembering

Most of what parents say after games is trying to do something — motivate, console, correct, encourage.

These six words don't try to do anything, which is exactly why they land. They tell a kid that the person on the fence is glad to be there, whatever happened out on the field.

Over ten years, that's the message worth having repeated.

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The daily program handles the coaching, which frees you up to be the one person out there who isn't evaluating him. Three real days of a fifth-grade week are open on the site, no signup. Take a look at the free week.

Coach Greg — LAX Goalie Hub