What Makes Players Stay: A Coach’s Real Job.
A continuation of “You can't teach this––But you can protect it.”
The last time we spoke, we stood on the edge of the practice field and watched a lingering player do more than what was asked of her. A glimpse of intrinsic motivation not shouted into existence—but uncovered.
We ended with a question: “How do I make room for more of that?”
This is the continuation of that moment, that question, that quiet fire I saw spark to life. This blog post is not the answer to that dangling question, but the architecture I've been learning to build ever since.
Because I’ve learned that effort doesn’t bloom from pressure. It roots itself in something deeper I’ve had to study, stumble through, and slowly start protecting. Three silent forces, always in motion: Autonomy. Competence. Relatedness. Psychologists call it Self-Determination Theory. But when I see it on the field, I simply see it as the difference between showing up and staying in.
3 Key Takeaways:
Autonomy takes shape through real choices. When athletes help shape practice, they stop performing and start participating.
Competence becomes motivation when progress is seen and spoken. Naming the small wins builds confidence that sustains effort.
Connection must be designed with care. Belonging grows through rituals, questions, and the quiet work of noticing each other.
2 Thought-Provoking Questions:
Which player in your group hasn’t been asked what they want to work on?
How often do your sessions end with most feeling proud—not praised?
Autonomy: The Freedom to Own the Work
Autonomy does not look like undisciplined goofing around. It’s not “do whatever you want.” I see it as structure with choice inside.
When a player says, “I want to run that again,” and no one made them. When you ask, not tell. Invite, not assign.
Practical cues that protect autonomy:
“What would you like to focus on today?”
“Which pattern do you think fits here?”
“Want to run the blue version or the red version of this drill?”
“You’ve got 3 reps—how do you want to use them?”
These aren’t rhetorical tricks. They’re openings—small but powerful—through which real ownership can return.
You’ll know autonomy is alive when players begin proposing their own adjustments, or when quiet ones linger to try something again, just for themselves.
However, autonomy is fragile. Fake choice—like choosing between two drills you’ve already decided on running this session anyway—kills trust. So does correcting every small deviation from your plan.
Let them improvise. Let them choose wrong sometimes. That’s how they learn to lead.
The coach, here, is less conductor and more architect. You build the space. They decide how to move inside it.
Competence: The Feeling of “I’m Getting Better”
Nobody keeps coming back to a space where they feel like they suck.
Competence is the sense that “I did something I couldn’t do before.” It requires some level of courage to try. And it doesn’t come from talent. It comes from visible progress.
Your job isn’t to tell them they’re good. That is what parents and friends do. As their coach, why not help them see how they got better—and how to do it again?
Cues that highlight growth:
“What did you do better this time?”
“What helped you succeed there?”
“Where did you notice a shift in your timing or feel?”
“What’s a small skill you want to sharpen this week?”
Use micro-metrics:
“Two clean catches under pressure today. That’s up from zero last week.”
“You hit 3/5 throws after adjusting foot placement. That’s data.”
Design drills that scale. Let one player chase efficient mechanics, another timing, a third decision speed. Everyone should feel challenged—but not crushed.
Remember: challenge without scaffolding feels like shame. So don’t say “Do it right.” Say “Let’s figure out why it didn’t land, and how it might.”
I got a high from seeing this: Once players feel competence, they start setting their own targets. And that’s when the work becomes self-directed.
Relatedness: The Sense That “I Matter Here”
This is the most invisible one—and maybe the most powerful.
It’s not just “team bonding,” but knowing that if you missed a rep, someone noticed. When you made the impossible flag pull, someone saw it. Or if you didn’t speak up, someone still asked your opinion.
Cues that deepen belonging:
“Who surprised you with support today?”
“What helped you feel part of the team this session?”
“Who helped you grow—directly or indirectly?”
Create rituals that amplify connection:
Shoutouts in huddles: “Name one person who lifted you up today.”
Partner warm-ups with rotating pairs.
Peer feedback moments: “Watch this rep, then tell them what worked.”
But be wary of silent exclusion! When cliques form, when the same 3 voices run drills, when someone always goes last—relatedness erodes. And when players don’t feel like they belong, they stop being couragous. Then, they stop improving.
Research shows relatedness is a critical fuel for long-term motivation—without it, autonomy and competence can't take root.
Relatedness isn’t sentimental, but structural. You have to design it on purpose.
What This Looks Like When It Works
For me, this part is still a challenge. I tend to cram as much as I can into each precious minute of practice. In fact, I even cut the schedule down by thirty minutes just to pace things better and avoid what I used to call 'unproductive time.' Stopping a drill early just to talk? It still feels like I’m taking something away from them—even though I know I’m trying to offer something deeper.
But when it works, it’s quietly powerful.
You won’t see fireworks. You’ll see persistence:
The kid who used to dread conditioning now stays to tweak his stride.
The player who could do nothing right last week shows up early to ask questions.
The team who lost by 20 still debriefs with curiosity, not blame.
They’re not just playing. They’re learning how to grow inside adversity.
That’s self-determination theory in motion. Not a theory. A practice. A blueprint. And a protection spell.
Final Reflection: What Coaching Really Builds
Last time, I tried to name what so often goes unseen—the internal spark that drives someone to stay, to try again, to care when no one’s watching.
This time, I’ve laid out the framework that helps that spark survive—not by pushing harder, but by designing with more care.
So ask yourself, after your next session:
Did anyone choose something today?
Did someone feel themselves get better?
Did every player leave knowing they mattered?
If the answer is yes, you haven’t just run a good session, you’ve started to build a space where motivation breathes. Where growth doesn’t need to shout.
That space will outlast the drills, the scoreboard, maybe even the team itself.
That’s why I keep coming back. Not for the perfect session. Not even for the visible progress. But for the moments when I see a player trust the space I created, lean into the challenge, or feel truly seen. That’s what makes it matter. That’s what makes it mine.
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Rolf is a seasoned performance coach and coach developer, with a unique perspective that challenges conventional thinking. He works across both the business and sports worlds, supporting teams and individuals through change. Currently, he develops coaches in the state of Bavaria, Germany, and provides personalized guidance to leaders and practitioners in both fields.
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Email: rolf@beyondchampionships.eu
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