Notes from a Clinic: Communicating Effectively

How can we instruct and help players without appearing negative and critical?

James Marshall asked me to speak to the GAIN Swim group last week, and I collected some of my notes and main points below.

“As little as possible, but as much as necessary” is the coaching mantra by which I abide with regards to communication. I attempt not to say much, whether setting up a drill, lecturing in the middle of practice, breaking down a mistake, in the pre-game talk, or at timeouts. I give players the space to work together and problem solve without my constant interference. However, I love to be involved, to help players, and I want to guide them as much as I possibly can. I am not afraid to speak, instruct, or intervene as necessary. When and how much to interject is the art of coaching; every team, situation, player, and coach are unique, and there is no single answer.

The purpose of feedback

I coached a player who was deaf at a camp in my early 20s, and the experience shaped my coaching and communication styles. I asked her for help when she was assigned to my team and I realized she was could not hear. Literally. How could we communicate? What did I need to do to help her?

She primarily read lips. I changed my coaching. I adapted. I waited for breaks when she could see me speaking to her. I moved into her line of sight when I needed to tell her something. I could not yell as she ran up and down the court; I could not instruct, give feedback, or make adjustments mid-play. The experience made me more aware of and forced me to pay more attention to my communication with all players.

How important was the information? Was it worth a timeout or a substitution to speak to her directly? If not, was my feedback to other players equally as trivial? Was I yelling because coaches are supposed to yell and instruct or because the information was valuable and necessary in that moment?

I instructed, talked, and yelled more frequently before the experience, as I realized much of my talking was relatively unimportant and likely unheard by players on the court. I was filling the role of a coach, not assisting the players with their learning and performance. I changed my coaching style to speak less, focus on informative feedback, and check for eye contact. I rarely speak to players running up and down the court or with their backs turned, unless the comments are general, such as calling a play (which I do more in practice than games). I wait until players are ready to listen before I speak.

I also do not talk over players or another coach; I wait. I have coached in numerous foreign countries, and players often translate for one another because English skills vary. I wait and allow them to finish. The same is true when an assistant coach speaks at practice; I wait. I do not fight for communication or attempt to talk over others, and I demand the same of players and assistants. Respect for each other is one of my few rules. Of course, occasionally players are not translating; maybe they are misbehaving or unfocused on the task. Again, I wait until I have their attention. I rarely yell or raise my voice. I stop and wait.

This season, I emphasized the two parts to communication. Basketball coaches emphasize talking and a loud gym, but communication requires listening as well. Otherwise, the talking is noise, which occasionally is the point, but its impact lessens over time. Listening is as or more important than the talking.

Ideally, we want players to use names (be specific), provide information, and repeat themselves three times. For example, the screener’s defender yells, “Brian! Screen left, screen left, screen left. Over, over, over.” We use names to get the player’s attention and use repetition to assist with hearing and processing. When I instruct, I often, but not frequently enough, ask a question to gauge understanding and listening. As John Wooden said, “You haven’t taught until they’ve learned.” I set out the rules for the drill or the game, and then ask, “What are we playing to?” or “Which direction do we move?” or whatever is relevant to the activity.

Several seasons ago, when I coached college basketball, other coaches visited our practices to recruit our players. At a water break, one coach approached and asked if I always coached that way, as I had in the previous drill. We played a half-court two-vs-two cut-throat style game, and I stood at half-court at the back of the guard line and gave feedback as players returned to the end of the line. I stood next to the players so I could stand close but without being imposing in order to talk quietly to individuals as the play continued with other players. I had never consciously decided to coach in a certain way; it was an extension of how I was taught as an assistant coach to keep the action between the coaches (stand diagonal) and my emphasis on point-guard decision-making. I did not speak to every player after every repetition; I spoke when necessary, whether to ask a question, provide a correction, or offer positive reinforcement.

Effective communication should be concise and informative, and remove the emotional or personal elements. I comment on the action, not the player. A player made a bad pass; he is not a bad player. My feedback is either a cue or explanation to provide information to avoid the same mistake again or a question to get the players’ perspective or understand the player’s processing. I do not comment on every play or every mistake because players typically know they made a mistake and often know the solution before the coach says anything. Too much, too quickly, too general, and too often are frequent feedback traps that befall coaches.

Refereeing youth soccer provided an educational experience on coach-player communication. Often, a player made a mistake (kicked the ball out of bounds), and the coach yelled something ridiculously general and almost insulting — “Shoot at the target!”. Players rolled their eyes. Some yelled back. They knew the correct objective; they simply hit the ball wrong or misjudged an angle or made another similar error while attempting to achieve the objective. The feedback to point out the error did not help the player to perform better the next time; it was too general and offered no actual information. I do not yell, “Make the shot!” when a player misses; what purpose does that serve? I may, however, instruct: Slow down, breathe, higher, reach to the rim, turn all the way, and more, depending on the player, the mistake, and the situation.

Now, I have, at timeouts, assured the team we just needed to make some shots or the other team simply needed to miss because the process was fine. We were taking good shots or forcing tough shots, but the bounces were not going our way. Trust ourselves and we will start to make some or they will start to miss because they cannot possibly make every shot. This, to me, is different, as the focus is not “you have to make your shots”, which they know already, but the makes are the only thing missing, as we were doing everything right, and they will come as long as we trust each other and continue creating and taking good shots. I often wait longer than most to take a timeout because I am relatively uninfluenced by makes and misses. We once trailed 19-0 in a college game before I called a timeout because were were taking, but missing, good shots. Why did we need a timeout? So I could tell them to make their shots! They know this. When you shoot a lot of three-pointers, scoring streaks — positive and negative — are normal. We won the game.

We often exaggerate a coach’s negativity or the frequency of yelling because these actions are the most visual. If I yell once during a game, but spend most of practice standing next to players in line offering corrective feedback and positive reinforcement, am I a negative coach because of the one emotional outburst? Maybe, maybe not, but just as we exaggerate the frequency of the behaviors we see during games, children most remember the punitive and critical comments. One study found these critical comments comprised only 1.5% of all coaching behaviors, but correlated most strongly with children’s attitudes about their coaches (Smith and Smoll, 1997). Relatively rare behaviors eclipse the more common behaviors because of the emotional responses to the outbursts or criticism.

In Zen Golf, Dr. Joseph Parent wrote, “Emotional experiences register more strongly in memory than ordinary experiences. They get a special ‘tag’ because of the emotional charge associated with them. We’re hardwired that way.” Generally, we imagine the last-second missed free throw as the emotional experience with the special tag in our memories, but, especially for children, these emotional experiences often are related to coach behaviors. Yelling and screaming at players, or similar emotional outbursts, once or twice may overshadow the the hundreds of thousands of positive daily interactions. The one time all season when the coach yanks a player out of a game and yells at him resonates in his memories forever, and often may define the coach-player relationship.

Wooden’s most frequent coaching behavior was corrective feedback, which he believed was the positive approach to coaching, as he was helping the player to overcome a mistake and improve. Wooden’s former player Swen Nater wrote that the informational feedback was never personal or emotional, but promoted change. I agree generally, and I primarily coach in this manner, but some players need more than instructions. Some, maybe all, need to know they are doing a good job. They need the pat on the back. Research has found the magic ratio — 5:1 positive to negative comments — improves learning, performance, and relationships (Gottman, 1994; Kirkhart, 1972). How positive is the informative feedback described as positive coaching? Is it sufficient or is viewed as criticism by the players? Just as you have not coached until they have learned, as Wooden said, you are not a positive coach, regardless of the ratio, if the players only remember the negativity and critiques.

As with all research, these are averages. The goal is not to track one’s comments to add a few throw-away positive comments at the end of the day to balance out the criticisms, but to be more aware of the effect of one’s language and feedback, including body language. A coach dropping his head, visually displaying his dismay at a player’s performance or decision, may resonate more than the dozens of positive comments and clapping used by the coach to compensate. Coaches create the environment and great environments are generally positive, encouraging places without monitoring the specific ratios.

No coach is perfect, and players generally do not expect a perfect coach. Every player is different in background, experience, and personality. Some players need constant positive reinforcement. Some players want to be left alone unless the coach really has something to improve their performance. The coaches who communicate the best have a feel for each situation and player because they get to know their players and they have multiple tools to use to communicate. They are more often direct and specific, but avoid the personal and emotional. They offer information. They give players room to process and try to make sense without rushing to instruct again or add to the instructions. They are flexible and can pivot to use a new demonstration, exercise, or language to enhance understanding. They listen to players, both to what they say verbally, but also to their body language, and not to punish, but to learn, adjust, improve, and change. They first reflect on what they can do to improve the communication before passing the blame for miscommunication onto others. Ultimately, our messages and our messaging is the most consequential aspect of coaching, far surpassing the plays or systems or or timeouts or starting lineup choices.