Ididn’t want to be my son’s under-8s soccer coach.

Which sounds ridiculous considering I love my son and have a longstanding passion for the sport. I just didn’t want to coach. I was loath to commit to being there every Thursday evening for training and Sunday morning for games, being the person responsible for shepherding these enthusiastic six, seven and eight-year-olds through a long season of wins and losses, ups and downs.

Like countless other parents, the lives my wife and I lead are hectic, sometimes verging on manic. With a five and eight-year-old to keep healthy, happy and alive, alongside two demanding jobs, I wasn’t keen to add another ball to the many others my wife and I were juggling.

My son started playing soccer last year – a motley crew of young kids, charging about in

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