The drive to the field is 12 minutes long. Most parent-coaches use it to drill the lineup, the matchups, the play they installed at practice on Wednesday. The kid in the back seat is hearing one thing: don’t mess this up.
You did not mean to say that. You said something about footwork on the second batter. The 9-year-old heard pressure.
The kids in our car learned the same thing across two sports and one orchestra. Pre-game strategy talk burns nervous energy in a bad way.
What the drive there is for
Three things, in this order. Ground them in the place. Reduce stakes. Hand them their job.
Ground them. “Smell that? They cut the grass.” Or “There’s the bagel place. The one we go to after.” You are reminding the kid that the field is a real place in a real life, not the only place in the universe today.
Reduce stakes. “If you go 0 for 4 today, we still get pizza.” Said flatly, not as a bit. Kids carry the score sheet for you. Lift it off them before the first pitch.
Hand them their job. One sentence. “Your job today is to talk to the catcher between innings.” Not their job to win. Their job to do one specific thing that takes courage and is fully within their control.
Specificity over praise. Presence over evaluation. The same rule, before the game and after it.
What this looks like in practice
Soccer, age 8: “Your job today is to call for the ball one time in the first half.” That is a measurable, brave act. Not “play hard.” Play hard is a sentence we use when we don’t want to teach.
Lacrosse, age 11: “Your job is to pick one teammate and tell them good play after their next mistake.” Leadership is a learnable skill. Small reps build it.
Choir, middle school: “Your job is to look at the conductor on the entrance to the second piece.” Performance discipline is the same skill across activities. It just wears different uniforms.
What to skip
Don’t review last game. They lived it.
Don’t run through the lineup unless the kid asks. The lineup is your job, not theirs. You do not need their input. You need them ready.
Don’t talk about the other team. Most kids inflate the opponent in their head. Your job in the car is to shrink the opponent back to size, not give them a backstory.
The hand off
When you pull into the lot, end the conversation. Out loud. “OK. We’re here. I’m proud of you no matter what.” Then say nothing for the walk to the dugout.
The silence is the work. The kid is now alone with their job. That’s what you wanted. That’s what 12 minutes of driving was for.