My father was my soccer coach for many years. Like most of his generation, he had never played the game. Football and baseball were the sports he knew best. But, when the local soccer league needed coaches, my dad answered the call and coached my soccer team and Uncle Perry’s for many years. He was a great coach. We won a lot of games and many trophies. His coaching approach was basic – focus on the fundamentals, keep the ball on the other team’s side of the field and don’t be afraid to shoot. It is hard to score without shooting. He also had a few sayings that became his trademark. One that I have always remembered is “talk with your feet, not with your mouth.” This phrase may seem odd to some, so here is where that phrase comes from.
You pay the price if you talk too much
We were playing soccer in the local league. I was 13 years old, a brand new teenager. Nothing spectacular about the game. Neither team was doing anything special. That all changed when my good friend Willy, who played goalie, received a red card for cursing on the field. The incident was not overly dramatic. He disagreed with the referee’s call, which resulted in a penalty kick and a goal for the opposing team. Willy let the ref know that it was a “BS” call. The ref decided, rightfully so, to issue a red card. I don’t remember why, but that red card made me mad.
The bad version of me showed up
I did something quite out of character next. I took it out on an opposing player. After the ensuing kick-off, I fouled the player for no good reason. It was not a fair play. It was a blatant cheap shot, and the player stayed on the ground, needing medical attention from the sideline. I would love to say I felt guilty, but I don’t remember feeling angry. We were down a player and likely to lose due to a poor call by the referee. My father called me over the sideline for a chat. He asked me why I had fouled the kid. I responded that the call the ref made was BS and that we would lose because of it. My words were loud enough for all the parents to hear – not a great choice.
I was stupid enough to talk back to my dad
Imagine that: a pimpled nose teenager cussing at his coach, his dad, a highly decorated Vietnam veteran. I was wrong, and I knew it, but I did not care. My father’s response was fascinating. He did not yell. He could have. My actions would have justified him putting me in my place. Instead, he leaned towards me and spoke softly.
You need to stop talking with your mouth. Talk is cheap. You need to start talking with your feet. I don’t care if you think the referee’s call was fair. That matter is decided. What has not been decided is the outcome of this game. You have a decision to make. No one on my team plays dirty. You can stay on the field and play the game properly, or you can quit and sit on the sideline next to me.
My dad teaching me an important life lesson.
Actions always speak louder than words
I decided to play. It was probably the best soccer game in my life. We were able to rally as a team. I scored four goals, and we ended up winning. Nowadays, it seems like athletes talk a lot of trash. It has become “part of the game”. Watch sports – it is commonplace for the players to chirp at the refs constantly. I do not espouse this type of behavior. Instead, I try to talk with my feet. It seems to produce better results – which is really what matters.
At the end of this game, the European Cup will be only six feet away from you, and you’ll not even able to touch it if we lose. And for many of you, that will be the closest you will ever get. Don’t you dare come back in here without giving your all.
Sir Alex Ferguson during 1999 European Cup final against Bayern Munich
I am Doug Keating, and this is my letter to my sons.