Football season is hard. There is no sugarcoating the amount of blood, sweat, and tears that go into our lives for 4 months each year. The nights when your husband (coach) comes home and you can see the struggle and disappointment on his face because practice didn't go well.
You can see the despair that he must be feeling when he feels like the kids don't care whether they win or lose or, even worse, that the kids have lost hope that there is even a chance of winning.
He knows that it's not just a "Friday night." It's his job that is on the line. It's his family's future that he sees flashing before his eyes. Depending on teenagers to provide for your family is the ultimate challenge, knowing that there is nothing he can do to make them as competitive as he is or to want it as much as he does for them.
Heartbreaking is the only word to describe the pain you feel for him. Football is heartbreaking. You see him pour countless hours, and I'm talking 100+ sometimes, into strategizing for this week's opponent.
He loses sleep because every time he rolls over, it wakes him up just enough for plays to start running through his head again. You wake up, and he is on his phone watching Hudle for the millionth hour this week. His showers are longer than normal, and you can see the plays drawn on the glass shower door.
There is not a minute that is not dedicated to the team, in one way or another, for 4 months.
Then Friday night finally arrives- game day. You feel the excitement in the air, the pressure building, the nausea forming in your stomach because you know that your husband's final exam for the week will be played out in front of hundreds of spectators. A final that he has crammed for all week and has committed every resource and mental capacity that he has to make the highest grade in the class, winning.
You know, unlike all the spectators, that he has put together the only game plan that has even a remote chance of getting the outcome that everyone wants: a win.
You sit in the crowd, hopefully surrounded by people who love and support you, and endure all the armchair coaching comments:
- What are we doing?
- Why would you call that play?
- That's not what I would do!
- Come on, coach!
- Why do we suck so bad?
- Why can't we complete a pass?
- Ugh…that play again!
You watch it all played out on the field right before your eyes, knowing that a bunch of kids hold your future in their hands, and they don't even know it or care.
Sometimes, all those hours pay off, and you get the WIN!
You know, because your husband told you, or should I say warned you, that the other team was better athletically, and this entire game would come down to the coaching.
You know that the extra hours that you lost in family time and lack of sleep your husband got paid off this week.
You know that this weekend will be a good weekend, but in the back of your mind, all you can think is there are still eight more weeks to go.
All of you Friday night coaches' wives out there can relate, I'm sure.
You are the true heroes behind the scenes. You hold everything together so your husband can do his thing, the thing that fulfills him because this is not just a job to him… it's a ministry.
Through all the wins and losses, he gets to show those young men what it means to be tough and trust in God every day, every play, and every second.
He gets to show them how to stand in faith even when you are in the trenches, struggling.
He gets to be not just a coach but a dad, mentor, counselor, and role model.
He gets to impact lives for the ultimate reason: God's glory.
You know that it's all worth it, even when you cry in the car as you call out to God to protect the team, help them play to the best of their ability (or better), to retain the knowledge that the coaches have imparted on them, and to give the coaches wisdom to make the right call at the right time.
You know that without you, this would not be possible. Hang in there, coach's wife…Tis the season...you got this.
Sincerely,
Fellow Friday Night Wife